Monotone of the Rain
by Emanium
Summary: Set in 1898. Upon her retirement as Hogwarts Headmistress, Minerva was to fulfill one thing that was asked of her by the former Headmaster. Little did she know she would be taken a century back in time to meet the teenage prodigy Albus Dumbledore. TransfigurationProfessor!Minerva x SeventhYear!Albus featuring ExchangeStudent!Gellert (Yikes!)
1. The Message

"Have you decided?"

The Headmistress looked up wearily at the mediwitch, who returned her gaze with a sad smile. "Yes, Poppy, I'm afraid I have. I can almost hear my bones cracking in the morning."

"Well, I'm happy for you, Minerva. It's about time you spend your life caring for yourself rather than herding the young ones." She patted the taller witch on the shoulder encouragingly. "It's what Albus would wish for, you know."

For a moment Minerva was silent. She fell back into her chair, cheeks cupped in her hands as she sat staring thoughtfully at the emptiness before her. She finally spoke when she realized the edginess of her conversational partner, "Yes, I suppose he would."

"Is there something on your mind?" Poppy prompted, leaning around the corner of the Headmistress's desk. The portrait behind Minerva - Severus Snape's, she noted - also inched closer in equal parts amusement and curiosity, much to Poppy's annoyance. "Shoo," She hissed, waving her hand dismissively.

"What? I'm not doing anything," he crossed his arms and glared back as intensely as his namesake would.

"You're listening in on a private conversation," Poppy retorted. She gestured to the disinterested portraits on the walls, "Why can't you be like them?"

"I didn't choose to be hung right behind McGonagall's desk, you daft woman," Snape snapped.

"Who are you calling daft?" The enraged mediwitch cried back, pointing an accusing finger at Snape's direction, "Learn some manners, you greasy git!"

Where Minerva sat, the usual banter between Snape's portrait and her best friend faded into familiar background noise. She leaned back into her chair with a sigh. "It's Albus, Poppy," she explained defeatedly, watching the mediwitch turn to her in concern. "It's just a conversation from long ago, but he's wrote a letter to me, and have asked that I not read it until the very day I retire."

"What is it about then?" Poppy asked curiously. When Minerva didn't answer, she prompted again, "Well? Today is your last day, Min. Have you had a look?"

"No, I haven't." Minerva shook her head resolutely. "Frankly, I'm no longer certain that what he wrote half a century ago holds the same truth today."

Agitated, Poppy pushed with a hint of impatience, "What? Why wouldn't it?"

With her face in her hands, Minerva responded reluctantly, "I don't know- it just wouldn't," She trailed off uncertainly, "When he said it, I was eighteen. I was his student. How long ago was that? Our relationship has changed so much over the years..." It bothered her, it did. That memory from long ago, the first and last time he cried before her, and the sky cried with him. That was the image she had imprinted in her mind of their strange conversation. "Besides, he never mentioned it again, ever."

"I don't understand," Poppy shook her head, "He wrote you a letter for you to read when you retire as the Hogwarts Headmistress, in what, 1944? How did he even know that you were going to become the Headmistress? For all I remember, you headed straight for the Auror's office after graduation."

"Merlin, I don't know!" Minerva cried in confusion. "I thought he was joking - good-humored or not, it could not have been the truth. But when I succeeded him as Headmistress, I remembered our exchange and it irked me every time I thought of retiring. You know my lack of faith in Divination. And if it wasn't a crystal ball's doing then I don't know how he came to that conclusion."

"Suppose he knew," Snape's portrait drawled from behind in an annoyed tone, "Shouldn't you be reading Dumbledore's letter instead of whining pathetically into your paws twelve hours before your train arrives?"

"I'm not whining, Severus," Minerva managed in suppressed distress. The portrait smirked smugly in return, and she fought back the urge to splash cold water at the canvas.

"As rude as he is," Poppy's eyes shot daggers at the portrait, "Snape's right. Albus knows many things that we don't, except what hours to lay off the Sherbet Lemons if he wants to maintain his figure. Now, where did he put that blasted parchment?"

"He didn't tell me." Minerva sighed knowingly at the aghast expressions she received. "Trust me, I too think it's ridiculous." Suddenly her eyes flashed with hope. She turned to Albus's portrait, who laid in a sweet slumber in his purple armchair. "Albus," she called softly, until the portrait's eyes fluttered open. He was still dazed when he recognized her. "Yes, my dear? I don't recall scheduling a chess match this evening."

"No, you haven't," she smiled. "I need to ask you something urgently."

"Ah, ask away then." He shifted in his seat as his awareness of the setting grew. As a portrait, he liked being needed, especially when he was needed by the fiercely independent Minerva. There were only a handful of times when she had consulted his opinion during her years as Headmistress, and personally he thought he could offer more than what she had asked of him.

Minerva hesitated as she phrased her question, but eventually she inquired, "Has Albus ever mentioned a letter to you that was specifically for me to read when I retire? A parchment, a message, anything of the like?"

The Albus sitting in the flat armchair rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "As far as I can remember, none whatsoever."

Minerva looked crestfallen. "I see. Thank you for your input, Professor."

The portrait piped up at her downturned lips. "He did, however, lecture me on a number of his secret hiding places. He said I might want to pass the information on to our desperate treasure hunters." The lively twinkle returned to his eyes as hers brightened with a trace of hope, "You may want to start with the Room of Requirement."

* * *

An hour later, Minerva and Poppy had rummaged through the curious possessions held in the Room of Requirement, the Headmaster's office, and managed to interrogate poor Fawkes during his daily visit for Sherbet Lemons, all to no avail. Snape had uncharacteristically searched the Dungeons for the Headmistress's sake, and Albus had commanded all Hogwarts portraits and ghosts to search the grounds for a mysterious envelope.

"I can't imagine someone hiding a letter to such great lengths and then expecting another to find it," Poppy said, exasperated, as she flipped a drawer and allowed the contents to fall unceremoniously onto the ground.

"It's me, dear, what did you expect?" Chimed in Albus's portrait. He was back sitting in his comfortable armchair after issuing his commands. "Knowing me, it could have been transfigured into something else entirely. Or she might have to look in my Pensieve."

"Well, you were strangely assured that she would find it," Snape countered sarcastically.

"In eventuality, yes. My namesake has faith in the right people, yourself included." The smile from Albus's end was met with a disgusted scowl. Snape's portrait disappeared from the canvas as he mumbled something about looking in the Astronomy Tower.

The door slammed open, and Minerva came in slouching. "Any luck?" She asked, watching Poppy rummage through a heap of tiny sparkling objects on the ground that she had no idea existed in the decade of her occupancy. Poppy replied in the negative. Minerva sighed, "I give up, Albus," she said to the portrait, "Either you forgot about it as well or I'm just not destined to find it."

She sank into her chair when a small, low voice snuck into her ear. "All you have to do is ask."

Spinning around in surprise, Minerva drew her wand and pointed it at the speaker, but no one was standing behind her. "Who-?"

"Your manners, Miss McGonagall. I am, in every way, your senior." She squinted and saw in the very back corner of the room, the Sorting Hat speaking in her direction. His voice sounded so soft yet traveled so far.

"What do you know of Albus's letter?" Minerva walked towards the hat. It sat more upright with a pleased grin when he had gotten her attention.

"I know that it is not a parchment, not, in fact, written at all. You could say it is a message of sorts," he suggested, the dark slits of his eyes narrowing, "However, there are conditions that I must honor. I am to ask you three questions, in private, and you must answer in the absolute truth."

With one scoop, Minerva held the Sorting Hat in her hand and gestured for the portraits to leave her office. She nodded once at Poppy and the mediwitch left as well, leaving her alone with the hat.

"Well then, we haven't got all day, have we?" She sat the hat down on her desk and pulled her chair close, sitting upright and stern as if she was talking to a colleague at a meeting.

"Indeed," the hat gave a small, almost creepy smile.

"Before you proceed," Minerva held up a hand hushing the hat, "Why didn't you speak up an hour ago when I first mentioned the letter?"

The slits of his eyes sunk dramatically and his smile widened, "Why, I thought it was an entertaining ordeal. I was waiting for you to give up."

Minerva groaned into her hands. "Right, you were never quite cooperative."

"Ever since the day you threatened to shred me had I put you in Ravenclaw, no."

"Thank you for clarifying," Minerva regained her composure, "I'm ready."

"Minerva McGonagall, are you retiring from your position as the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry today, of your own free will and with no intention to resume your position?"

"Yes, the world be damned if there comes a day that I have to resume this position. I can hardly climb the two steps leading to my chambers." She smiled wryly.

"Come now, you don't look that old," the hat said nonchalantly, before continuing, "Then I must ask, are you married, engaged, in a relationship of romantic nature, and do you have a family at this time?"

"No, I have no family left, and I am long past the age of having a relationship."

"Well explained," the hat looked pleased, as if he was expecting her answer. "The third is an open-ended question. If given the chance, with whom do you wish to spend the rest of your life?"

The hat waited patiently as silence ensued. At last, she answered in a feeble voice, "That is an extremely private question. Why do you ask?"

"It is no more private than my second question, and entirely hypothetical. I am merely following Headmaster Dumbledore's instructions."

"You should know that my chance is over, and he is dead."

"My suggestion is to answer the question, Miss McGonagall." The hat added, "Standing by your assumptions, nothing will change, no matter what answer you give."

"Then why add to the heartache?" She withdrew from her desk and looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat.

The hat observed her behavior carefully, until finally he decided to wait no more. "Was I wrong to put you in Gryffindor, Miss McGonagall?" He asked in his small, stern voice.

The Headmistress looked back at him in surprise. "No," she said resolutely.

"Then I ask again," the hat said with finality, "If given the chance, who do you wish to spend the rest of your life with?"

Minerva shut her eyes and clutched the arms of her chair. "Albus," she uttered, her expression pained and her throat tight, "Albus Dumbledore."

"Very well," The hat bowed in satisfaction. He eyed the possessions on her desk and settled on the quill at the corner. "You should write a note."

She eyed him warily and picked up the quill while conjuring a clean piece of parchment. "Is that part of the Professor's instructions as well?"

"No, but it keeps people sane," the hat spoke flatly, "Now, write the following: 'To whom it may concern, I, Minerva McGonagall, shall not return to Hogwarts for an indefinite length of time-"

"Why is that?" Minerva questioned sharply.

"Why, aren't you retiring?"

"Yes, but do you presume that I will not visit Poppy and Rolanda every so often?"

The tip of the hat dipped in the affirmative. "I presumed so."

"That is incredibly unwise of an all-knowing hat."

"My instructions are in your and your acquaintances' best interests," the hat said firmly.

"You're relaying them, not giving them," Minerva countered, "Besides, they're my friends, not acquaintances. You should know as much."

"Write your own letter then," the hat exclaimed impatiently, "Designate whichever broomstick closet to Miss Hooch and Scotland's thickest syringes to Miss Pomfrey." He mumbled something inaudible as Minerva's quill danced swiftly across the parchment.

Eventually she stopped, and the hat who had now recovered from his momentary outburst eyed her signature with a weary glance. "Are we done now?"

"Yes, I appreciate your patience," she spoke in her best professor voice and folded the parchment. Conjuring an envelope, she wrote the recipients' names onto the back and sealed it with the letter inside. Then she turned to the hat and looked at him expectantly.

"Thank goodness." The hat gave her a meaningful look. "Close your eyes and put your hand inside the crown." The brim lifted, allowing her space, which Minerva hesitantly took.

When her hand was buried within the fabric, Minerva felt a small flat device materialize in her hand. Her fingers traced the two rings and the hourglass. No sooner had she touched the device than she recognized what it was.

"Miss McGonagall," the hat's voice prompted her out of her momentary surprise. "I have one more message from Headmaster Dumbledore that I wish to relay."

"What would that be?" Her voice came out hoarse in apprehension upon realizing what was due to happen.

"That he apologizes for his selfishness." His last syllables lengthened as the time warped and twisted around Minerva, and she found herself surrounded by images moving so fast around her that she could barely tell what was happening.

For several moments she found herself staring at a fast-moving, younger Albus strolling around the Headmaster's office, oblivious to her presence, then Fawkes flying about and herself moving in and out of the space. She watched the grey hair being replaced by auburn tresses, then his purple robes substituted by midnight blue and his spectacles no more, until eventually she saw Albus rather than herself moving in and out through the door and Armando sitting at the desk. Time continued to pass until even Armando looked significantly younger and healthier than how she remembered him to be. Then she felt the blinding swirl slow and everything fall into place. Her last vision before the swirling came to a stop was Armando's back disappearing behind the door to his bedchambers.


	2. Minette Marie

Minerva's head was spinning by the time the world around her stilled to a normal pace. The door in front of her clicked and she knew Armando was headed for bed. He was younger, but not exceptionally so. His beard was still white, and his face still frightfully pale.

When she came to her senses, the first thing she did was clench both hands into fists, not even daring to look down. Her heart dropped when the familiar sensation of a time-turner was no longer in either of her hands. The Sorting Hat did not leave her with a choice.

In a flash, she had transformed into a tabby cat and jumped out the window. She landed on the rooftop where she could view the entirety of Hogwarts. In facing the tall towers, the curtain-clad windows, the undisturbed spans of the Great Lake and the starry night sky, her racing heart eventually stilled and her paws unclenched.

Whenever she was, nothing had changed.

Her Animagus form dulled her senses, but it also slowed her thinking. Transforming back into a human, she sat down on the roof and wrapped her arms around her knees. Something shifted behind her, but she was too preoccupied to notice.

Her mind whirled quickly, calculating the years she had fled through in her mind, until she sighed in exasperation. She could hardly judge anything from Armando's age - the man lived three hundred years! She needed more evidence, but could not risk being seen. From afar, she could see the lights dimming and rooms darkening around the campus. It was past midnight. Surely she could look around without getting caught. After all, she was Albus's best spy during Grindelwald's era.

Silently she sneaked back into Armando's office. The portraits were asleep, as was the Headmaster. She unlocked the door and slipped out. The stone gargoyle made no move to stop her. Once she was in the corridors, she quickly transformed into her feline form and dashed through the corridors. Her first destination would be the library.

* * *

Experience had taught Minerva which routes to take at any particular time in Hogwarts to avoid bumping into people - dead or alive, for that matter. She took extra care not to use the corridors Peeves frequented, knowing a slippery surface is customary where the poltergeist was concerned. In half a minute, she was well on her way to the library. Only one thing stopped her. A lamp, floating on its own, disappeared behind the shelves just as she approached.

She knew a disillusionment charm when she saw one. Though vaguely, she could feel the air ripple and dim shards of light bouncing off the minimally reflective entity as it crossed the space. The lamp was not floating - it was held in the hand of someone sneaking into the library. She followed the lamp soundlessly, almost cursing under her breath when the lamp stilled momentarily and the footsteps paused. Then the owner of the lamp seemed to have cured his or her suspicions and proceeded to the more popular area for midnight intruders. She watched as the lamp led the way into the restricted section.

Following the light, she propped herself on a window sill from afar and watched the invisible wizard or witch pull a book out from the shelf, placing it on a desk and presumably reading it as time passed. For a while, all she could hear was pages flipping occasionally, until it slowed to a stop and the person before it had not moved for a considerable amount of time. She inched forward to catch a glimpse of the page's contents, but immediately retreated when she saw a wand materialize and its still invisible owner waving it with a hint of panic at the surroundings.

She stayed unmoving, her breath hitched, until the wand ceased moving and the wizard or witch concealed it once again. Hastily, he or she picked up the lamp and walked back to the entrance of the restricted section, shutting the door in haste. When Minerva was certain that she was alone, she emerged from the darkness and walked to the table. The book was shut, but it still laid in plain sight, and she recognized it instantly, having seen it in Albus's office.

"Secrets of the Darkest Arts, by Owle Bullock," it read.

Momentarily stunned, Minerva did not hear the light footsteps resounding behind the glass wall, neighboring where she stood, or the piercing blue eyes studying her from afar.

* * *

Minerva quickly placed the book back onto the shelves and headed out of the restricted section. She turned at the end of the corridor and at last found her way into the newspaper collection. Recognizing the front rack where the most recent ones were placed, she hurried to pick up the Daily Prophet, scrutinizing it under dim light. With a shaky finger, she traced the date disbelievingly. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

"Tuesday August 30, 1898," she uttered softly. 1898. The numbers reverberated in her ears loudly and clearly. Processing the new piece of information made her head hurt.

But why? Why did the Sorting Hat send her back to this time? More importantly, why did Albus send her back to this time? Surely he had arranged the time travel to some degree. He must have had some specific reason to-

She caught herself. Albus. Where was he? How was he? How _old_ was he? She quickly did some mental calculations and groaned when she arrived at her answer. "Seventeen," she repeated aloud, gripping the newspaper tight in her shaking hands. "He would be in school, at Hogwarts."

Her eyes fluttered close as she willed the image of a young Albus away. Had she ever even seen a picture of a young Albus? If she did, she could not remember. Her impression of him had always been him in his late fifties, with a trimmed beard and shoulder-length auburn hair, when he first walked into her classroom as her brilliant, eccentric Transfiguration professor.

Then with a calmer breath, she flipped through the Daily Prophet. It was all old news, history being reported with few names she recognized. She was relieved seeing Griselda Marchbanks and Nicolas Flamel's names appearing on the paper, each commenting on their area of expertise, then distressed seeing how young they looked in the moving picture.

Flipping the page, an image of herself forced fluid down her windpipe and she immediately fell into a violent coughing fit. She flattened the newspaper on the table and gingerly wiped the wetness off her eyes, while staring at the picture. No, it was not her, she realized. The name 'Minerva Murray' was printed in big, block letters above the image. It was her great-grandmother, the powerful witch whose name she had inherited. She had never had the fortune to meet her great-grandmother since her mother married a Muggle man and left the magical community. But there she was, in a moving picture, as formidable in appearance as Minerva herself. She almost wanted to steal the paper and read it in her own time, but eventually thought the better of it, knowing its absence would not go unnoticed.

She was on the last page when her eyes darted to a half-page advertisement. Her eyes widened with disbelief at the opportunity.

"Urgent Hiring at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," it read, "Job Opening: Transfiguration Teacher."

She skimmed through the requirements, then settled again on the words 'Transfiguration'. Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. How could it be?

* * *

"Good afternoon, Miss Marie. I'm delighted you can come at such short notice." Armando led the younger woman into the meeting room. It was not as grand as his office but it was about as professional in atmosphere as Hogwarts offices could be. He snapped his fingers and two steaming cups of black tea appeared on the table.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Minerva nodded her head appreciatively.

"Please call me Armando," he smiled, and she thought with odd timing that he did not have many wrinkles, in fact, he did not have any despite his age. His last century must have weighed heavy on him. In his hands were two parchments, one her application letter and the other her curriculum vitae. "I apologize for the abruptness of this meeting. As you know, the term begins on September first, and I am inclined to find a substitute for the late Professor Roche before its commencement. Coincidentally, Professor Roche also graduated from Beauxbatons, as I'm sure you've already known."

"Yes, unfortunately our years did not overlap, and our fields of research were quite different even in the subject of Transfiguration," Minerva lied, adding a disapproving shake of head for dramatic effect. She hoped Armando would drop the subject under the impression that she did not quite like the man, but was only feigning politeness. "However, I've always heard that he was a very accomplished individual and an expert in his field of choice. It was a shame - what happened to him, that is." She read a reasonable amount about the current Hogwarts staff and her predecessor after a quick research in the newspaper collection. Professor Roche was apparently practicing duelling at his home when a stunner spell backfired and his aged body could not sustain the injury. The man was a little daft in Minerva's opinion, but she knew better than to voice as much.

"Ah yes, hence the rather abrupt notice," Armando nodded while sipping his tea. His expression had shown her that he too thought the man was rather dimwitted, and from that logic he was probably not the best teacher available. Why he had taught at the most established wizarding academy in Great Britain for several decades was beyond her. "With all due respect, I was rather surprised that I have not yet heard of your name in academia. Your accomplishments are extraordinary and you are, frankly, the most qualified individual I have on my list thus far."

"You flatter me, Sir. My publications were mostly featured in a local Transfiguration magazine in Toulouse, my hometown, and I taught the subject Defence Against the Dark Arts mostly at Beauxbatons's branch campus in Lisbon. Nevertheless, it has been my wish for a decade to teach the subject where my true passion lies, and that is Transfiguration."

"Well then, I suppose it is my honor to fulfill that wish," Armando smiled and extended his hand, "I intend to search no more, Miss Marie. I have not yet encountered an individual as qualified as you are for this position, and this search has not been an easy matter." He paused thoughtfully, before starting with a strain of hesitation in his voice, "There is another matter that I would like to discuss, should it interest you. Professor Roche also served as Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmaster at this school. While I was prepared to appoint Professor Kettleburn as my next Deputy, he is a rather… reckless individual, for lack of a better word. In truth, Hogwarts has a shortage of teachers that are, simultaneously, apt at administrative matters. Miss Marie, you have been-" He took a small glance at her resume to remind himself of her title, "acting Headmistress at Beauxbatons's Lisbon branch campus for three years. Would you consider the additional positions of Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts?"

Minerva could not believe her luck. It was as if she was resuming all her positions at once, during her time under Albus when he was Headmaster. How she revelled in being Head of House, tending to her brave lion cubs. Beaming, she shook his hand firmly, "Yes, I would be very honored, Armando."

"And I extremely delighted." He stood upon releasing her hand. Then he walked towards the door, his long robes swishing behind him. He stood tall and proud, most unlike the Headmaster in her memory. "It is August thirty-first, and I understand you may want to return home for preparation. But I'm just making it clear that, should you wish, you are welcome to stay the night at your new chambers."

"Thank you for the offer, Sir. In fact, that has been my intention." He eyed her robes and lack of luggage with interest, so she responded with a tight smile. "Long years of travel have taught me that traveling light has its advantages. Anything can be bought, after all."

"Quite true, Professor. I am free in the afternoon, should you wish for me to accompany you to Hogsmeade-" He seemed to have caught something at the corner of his eye while standing in the doorway with the door open, for he smiled apologetically and excused himself for a moment, and then dashed out into the corridor. Dumbfounded, Minerva stood and watched the doorway as she heard whispers from behind the wall, the voices growing louder as the people closed into the space.

At long last, she saw Armando's head popping out from behind the door jamb, followed by an auburn-haired teenager. She thought she heard her heart skip a beat when the crystal blue eyes caught hers. His hair was shoulder-length, his nose less crooked, and there was not a single line marking his face, but the resemblance was uncanny.

"Glad I caught onto this lad wandering in the corridors," Armando patted the teen encouragingly on his shoulder. It looked somewhat strained, seeing that the younger man stood taller than the Headmaster by several inches.

"Professor Marie, allow me to introduce Mr. Albus Dumbledore, our distinguished Head Boy and arguably the best of Hogwarts by far. You will certainly hear a fair bit about this boy during your time here." The boy bowed slightly with a toothy smile, as Minerva visibly gulped and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "I'm sure."

Armando had evidently not heard or seen her reaction, for he cheerily gestured to Minerva. "Mr. Dumbledore, this is Professor Minette Marie, our new Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor, and Deputy Headmistress."

"Pleased to meet you, Professor." He stepped forward, close enough for her to discern all his characteristic features, and in that moment she wanted to burst into tears. She wanted to touch his face, to know that he was real, to feel his being and remind herself that it was not a dream - time travel, yes - but not a dream.

She maintained her composure with every ounce of self-control she could muster, and squeaked, "Enchanté." She looked away then, hoping for Armando to guide the conversation.

"Well then, Mr. Dumbledore, would you be so kind as to lead Professor Marie to her chambers?" Armando must have missed the spark of panic in Minerva's eyes, for he happily gestured for the two to leave the meeting room. Once they were in the corridor, he bowed and excused himself, "I will have to attend to school matters now. Again, I hope you enjoy your time at Hogwarts, Professor. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Headmaster." She watched him leave with more interest than she intended, until his silhouette disappeared behind a corner.

Dreading the moment, she turned to Albus, who still smiled innocently at her while offering his arm, his elbow bent, his gentleman's etiquette all painfully reminiscent of his older self. "Shall we?" She took his arm, trying not to remind herself of the thousands of times she had done it before, and allowed him to guide her on a path she knew by heart.

Albus felt at ease guiding the new professor around the castle. As Hogwarts's poster boy, he had led guests as touchy as the Minister along these corridors all too frequently, sometimes having to introduce them to subjects and teachers as they passed various classrooms. Professor Marie made no attempt at starting a conversation, so he naturally assumed that she was either not accustomed to talking, or she did not want to. It was not uncommon that professors were not sociable, given the many examples he had encountered at Hogwarts. She also had an air of authority and sternness that told him she was not one to be crossed.

He thought her middle-aged, seeing that her hair was still a dark mass twisted into a tight bun. Greying strands here and there did nothing to diminish her beauty; they spoke of wisdom and experience, things he admired and respected. Her most entrancing features were those emerald eyes that captured him at first glance, and though he could not tell what they conveyed, those bottomless wells of green seemed to hold a million different emotions the moment their eyes met each other's. Beautiful was the one word that suited her best. With her taut, porcelain skin and - for some obscure reason - her rosy cheeks, she looked every bit like the Roman goddesses he read about in old library books.

He wondered briefly what she would look like if she had smiled. The small smile she gave during their introduction did not quite reach her eyes. If he were to be honest, she looked more horrified than enchanted - as she had put it - to meet him. He wondered why.

Minerva felt her heart thumping loudly in her chest as she walked. She struggled to keep her hand from shaking, even though her subconscious mind kept reminding her that she was holding a ghost's arm. Or a dead man's arm, however she phrased it. She could not help thinking that it was also her beloved's arm. He was young, brilliant, full of life and vigor, yet it all seemed vague and fragile. Her hand wrapped even tighter on his arm and he smiled in response, stealing a concerned glance at the new professor.

Maybe she was nervous, Albus reasoned to himself. Without conscious thought, he wrapped his other hand around the slender one that gripped his arm. Immediately he regretted his actions when she withdrew like a startled cat, her eyes wide with shock and her mouth slightly agape. He stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily stunned by her reaction. At last, he whispered, as if caring for a frightened animal, "Sorry, Professor. I didn't think- I was merely concerned. You did not look so well."

"I apologize," Minerva responded quickly, masking her discomfort. "I was lost in thought. You see, I've apparated my way here with several stops here and there... the long trip must have finally gotten the better of me."

"I understand, Professor," he gave a genuine smile, his eyes twinkling with a friendly spark, which made her thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps he did understand. But of course he did not, she berated herself for her foolishness. He studied her attire for a second, then he asked, "Where did you come from?"

"Caith- Toulouse," Minerva corrected herself in time, but almost wanted to palm her face in desperation. She could have followed through with Caithness and Albus wouldn't have noticed the lie, but her numbed, idiotic self had to correct it, and not so subtly. "It's in southwestern France," she added hastily, trying to steer his attention away.

If Albus had noticed her lie, he made no attempt to press her mistake. Instead, he inquired curiously, "Forgive me if I'm wrong, have you taught at Beauxbatons?"

"At their branch campus in Lisbon, yes." She hoped he would not ask further. Her research on Beauxbatons, and particularly their branch campuses, was painfully insufficient.

Alas, he was mind-reader Albus Dumbledore, she reminded herself. Without missing a beat, he caught on, "Ah, how was it? Would you say it's different from Hogwarts?"

"Very," Minerva drawled. She could almost see "How so?" steaming out of Albus's ears when he turned to face her, his expression expectant with a hint of challenge. "The students are less inquisitive." She saw his face redden, and it was for the first time since coming to this time that she felt satisfied. "Their lack of curiosity and interaction make for a rather bookish learning environment, with more theory and less practice. The curriculum itself is not particularly helpful."

"I see," his confident voice faltered a bit.

As luck would have it, their route took them pass a trophy stand, and Minerva felt it necessary to steer the conversation a different course. "Do you play Quidditch?" Her eyes darted across the lines of trophies standing along the corridor.

"Yes, I am the Gryffindor Chaser," he said proudly. When he registered her surprise, then promptly replaced by amusement, he chuckled, "Is it that much of a surprise?"

"Quite," Minerva eyed his full length deliberately, trying to convey that she was judging him by his physical appearance, when in her mind's eye she saw her Professor Dumbledore hurling a Quaffle animatedly at a goal post on the Quidditch pitch. She wouldn't say the vision was impossible, she thought, just highly, highly improbable. Yet now, as she soundlessly trailed after the young man whose arm she held, looking every bit strong and independent, she doubted her knowledge of the man from the basics. At least, he never told her he was a Chaser.

"What about you?" He asked casually.

"Much like you, a hotheaded Gryffindor seeker," she said without much forethought, her painstakingly maintained shield crumbling in his relaxing presence.

Albus almost couldn't contain his laughter when her expression froze and she explained hastily, "I was here as an exchange student for a year, and the Sorting Hat placed me in Gryffindor-"

"Professor Marie," he paused and - to her surprise and somewhat to his too - placed his hands on her shoulders reassuringly, "You don't have to tell me anything if you're uncomfortable doing so." He removed his hands as soon as he was finished, and allowed her hand to curl around his elbow again. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "You could have taught at Beauxbatons and attended Hogwarts, you know."

He felt her hand tighten nervously, her feet not quite keeping up. He slowed himself as she spoke, almost timidly, "It didn't quite add up, did it?"

He smiled, shaking his head. "No, Professor. Exchange students don't attend the sorting ceremony."

With amusement, he heard her groan and curse under her breath, muttering, "How could I have forgotten that, of all things?"

"A few more rehearsals would have been wise," he teased as they rounded the last corner to her chambers.

Then she said, much to her regret, when exhaustion and an aching sense of loneliness coupled with déja vu rendered her mind useless, "I was speaking fine until I met you, Albus!"

He froze mid-step and she froze altogether, from head to toe, her face blanching to a whiter shade of pale with each passing second. It was not her use of his name - though surprising - that made her outburst odd, it was the emotion encompassed in one name, that held as much affection as it did grief, that struck him completely. She sounded as if she had known him all her life - this mysterious woman he had barely met, who shared with him sentences so few that he could count and list without revisiting a memory - he felt more certain that she loved him more than she knew him.

Yet she recovered, her face devoid of emotion and her voice colder than ice when she removed her hand from his arm again, and quickly shifted away from him as if he was a demon reincarnated. He registered more fear in her eyes than anger, and even if there was anger, he was certain it was directed at herself. She almost tumbled in her steps when he made a move towards her. After that he stayed still, stunned, and allowed her to back away to the safety of her chambers.

She looked back at the general direction of his being when she reached the door, her hand shaking violently against the door knob. She was glad the password had not yet been activated, seeing that with her state of mind she would likely not remember the phrase if she needed it. Keeping her voice flat and professional, she stated, "Thank you for escorting me to my chambers, Mr. Dumbledore. You may return to your dormitories now."

"Pro-" his call was cut short by her slamming the door against the frame so hard, dust from above the door head rained onto the ground. "'Twas my pleasure, Professor," he whispered at the closed door. Soon he retraced his steps across the castle, not knowing why or when a strange, empty feeling had creeped onto him as he replayed the conversation over and over again in his mind.


	3. Hogsmeade

Albus sat down on the side of his bed and looked out the window. From the Gryffindor Tower, he could more or less make out the side of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower, where Professor Marie resided. He shifted himself onto the bed and resorted to staring at the base of his canopy, allowing his head to rest comfortably on his pillow.

Was she lying? Yes, he thought.

What was she lying about? "She probably studied and graduated from Hogwarts as a Gryffindor student." He started counting on his fingers. "She was a Gryffindor Seeker. She was from Caithness."

What was questionable? Everything, he mused, but decided that answer gave him no clue. If she was from Caithness, geographically attending Hogwarts would have been more convenient than Beauxbatons. Whether she was from Toulouse or Caithness had no bearing on where she taught at - Beauxbatons or its branch campuses - as teachers live on campus anyway.

Was she even a teacher? He could not shake the image that she might be a master assassin, dressed in a black bodysuit and crawling up the castle walls. Then again, she did not seem to have malicious intent, merely frightened, nervous, and confused, each to a certain degree. He would know eventually, when she starts teaching. As intelligent as she might look, experience in teaching is easily distinguishable.

"Albus!"

He couldn't shake her voice that infiltrated his head. There was the cold "Mr. Dumbledore", then there was that. Pronounced and exclaimed so naturally as if she had said it a thousand times before. She knew him, and not by name. She knew him, somehow, and he had no clue.

Albus rolled onto his stomach and rested his cheek on the pillow, slipping his arms underneath. His eyes were fixed on his stack of textbooks, until they arrived at the title of his favorite subject. He had no clue, he admitted, but he was the Albus Dumbledore, and he was determined to find out.

* * *

Minerva collapsed into a heap once she was back in her safe haven of a chamber. It had been her home for decades, and she knew every corner, every fitting, every brick and every stone. Armando had made an effort to remove all of Professor Roche's belongings, so she was faced with a pristine, pleasing sight that allowed her to decorate the room as she wished. But her mind was preoccupied with something else entirely, as she willed herself to walk to her armchair.

Of all devils, she was followed by Albus Dumbledore. A young, handsome lad, oblivious to all the pain and suffering he had caused her in her life. Even more oblivious to the fact that he had now stolen her life completely, and dumped her in a time where he did not know her. Where no one knew her. That pained her most, trying to maintain her composure talking to a man of her past. With a new name and identity, she could play the role of an actress to Armando, but not Albus. Never Albus.

* * *

The longest Minerva had spent in a bathroom was thirty minutes. She was never keen on cosmetics or fancy hairdos, so thirty minutes was the absolute maximum. Five minutes for an ordinary day, ten for a meeting outside of Hogwarts, fifteen for a meal with Albus, twenty for a picnic with Albus, twenty-five for a ball with Albus, and thirty for a wedding.

Granted, she owed her speed to magic, but she also owed most of her motivation to Albus.

So when she finally strolled out of her mirror-clad confines, donning a rather revealing autumn dress, wearing light makeup, with her hair in a looser french twist, all for an essentials shopping trip at Hogsmeade with Armando Dippet, she did not know what had overcome her.

Perhaps it was the sight that everyone around her had turned young and attractive, whereas she felt old, uptight, and very much like the unsightly old hags featured in fantasy books. In fact, she quite liked the way she looked in the mirror, and did not think it diminished her authoritativeness in the slightest.

She thought no one took her seriously with her hair down, but now that she was old, she supposed no one cared anymore. A decade of being Headmistress had dramatically altered her perspective since she was a teacher. Albus's hair and beard were waist-long and everyone listened just fine. He even wore rainbow striped robes one time, and however ridiculous he looked, she took notes in his lesson all the same.

Maybe she could wear her hair down in class this week, just as an experiment.

* * *

The metaphorically slobbering Headmaster proved her initial judgement correct. She was immediately showered by compliments upon her arrival, and more still as time passed. Evidently, Rosmerta's mother, the current landlady of the Three Broomsticks, thought Minerva to be Armando's partner. They were twice complimented on how compatible they looked as a couple.

Armando led her around Hogsmeade under the impression that it was her first trip, and she made no indication to suggest that it was not. She gasped in awe and giggled in surprise, doing everything Professor Herbert Beery had taught her on dramatic performance to show that she genuinely appreciated Armando's company, and that the trip was indeed thrilling. Not that she needed a guide around Hogsmeade. She could recite the location of the stores along any axis.

It was only when they turned a corner that she felt her stomach twisting into knots. Immediately she spotted the auburn-haired teenager disappear behind the doors to Honeydukes.

"Fancy some chocolate?" Armando was already leading her towards the famous sweet shop, while levitating their findings beside them. "They sell Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans here. Despite my many occasions of indigestion, I've gotten quite addicted to the curry flavored one." Upon seeing her grimace, he chuckled and asked, "Ah, you don't like sweets?"

"Not particularly, no." She answered, trying to read the customers' faces through the windows. They were standing two feet away from the front porch. Alas, a large man came to stand by the left window, blocking her view as he refilled the Acid Pops with a bucket. She desperately turned to the right one, but quickly realized that it was not necessary.

The doorbell rang again and the auburn-haired teenager walked out of the store, with an armful of Sherbet Lemons, Fizzing Whizzbees, and Toffee Eclairs. His bright blue eyes immediately caught onto Armando. To him, Albus nodded respectfully. Then he did a double take at Minerva as if he did not recognize her. She noticed that his gaze was fixed resolutely above her neck. "Good evening, Headmaster, Professor Marie." He nodded at them both as he came off the steps.

"Albus, my boy! What a wonderful coincidence," the Headmaster exclaimed. His attention was already focused on the varieties of sweets the young man had managed to fish out of the crowded store. "I see you've gotten your supply of late-night snacks for the term."

"I wouldn't be able to survive without them, Sir." He eyed Minerva curiously. "Are you two looking for something? You can trust my recommendations on all things sugary."

"Ah, Minette isn't too fond of sweets, but I was thinking of grabbing a handful of Every Flavor Beans while I'm here." Armando winked, then addressed Minerva, "That is, if you don't mind, dear."

"Not at all, Headmaster, I'll just wait here." Minerva forced a smile onto her face. She brandished her wand and took over levitating the bags of items they had purchased. Armando smiled appreciatively at the gesture.

"Albus, why don't you stay and keep your professor company? I won't be a minute." He disappeared before acknowledging the expression of horror that crept onto Minerva's face.

A peculiar moment of silence befell the couple upon the Headmaster's leave.

"Have you-" he began.

"You aren't-" she stammered.

They began at the same time, and instantly fell silent again.

"Ladies first," he gestured politely with a chuckle.

Smiling, Minerva took the opportunity. "You aren't going to tell Armando about our conversation, are you?" She asked, stealing a concerned glance at her student. He was handsome, she mused. The thought came and went when she first met him, but now that they stood closer, she found herself thinking more consciously about his appearance. His smiles were more innocent, his words less calculated. She could see him weighing his options, see the process from indecision to decision. The older, more experienced Albus had become less readable. There came an occasional spark in his eyes that suggested he was thinking, sometimes about a badly timed prank, but most of the time she could not decipher his intentions.

For the first time, her years made her superior to this young, inexperienced Albus. The emotions that came with her memory, however, rendered her more vulnerable.

"The idea has never occurred to me." He shook his head, reassuring her.

A customer walked out of Honeydukes behind Albus, muttering "excuse me" as he wobbled down the stairs, hugging an enormous glass jar of Tooth Splintering Strong Mints. Albus stepped towards her and Minerva quickly realized that their positions were too close for comfort. She inhaled his scent, the same blend of lemon and chocolate, though quickly she regretted it as memories flooded back upon the untimely reminder. Yet she was none too inclined to back away.

"What were you going to ask me?" She whispered, filling their time with spoken words to ease the tension. He towered over her at his full height, and her eyes were trained on his auburn hair falling over his chest. She could not help but notice how broad his shoulders were despite his lean build.

He was studying her as well. Her eyebrows, knitted together in anticipation and a trace of apprehension. Her emerald eyes, downcast and fixed on his chest. Her luscious lips, painted a dazzling shade of red. His eyes travelled downwards to the span of her neck, stopping short when they arrived at her shoulder blade. He had only had a few female acquaintances outside of Hogwarts, and none were as alluring as the image before him.

He tried to stop looking down again, but even with silent prayers and curses alike, his self-control was doing little to stop himself. Yet he found himself stopping abruptly, this time out of curiosity. His eyes followed the beginning of what he could only distinguish as a scar, a sight courtesy of her low-cut dress.

A stunner scar.

One led to another, all ebbing into the edge of her laced brassiere. But even at the angle he was looking, he could not quite see how many dark lines were entangled on the porcelain span. Stunning spells of such intensity were uncommon in everyday life, and clearly not the results of backstreet fights. She must have been involved in something extraordinary. But what?

The mystery of her lies and the stubbornness inherent in her personality made for a dangerously mesmerizing combination. He so loved a challenge.

He did not stop talking despite his unusual discovery. "I was curious to know whether you've been here before, to Hogsmeade."

"Of course not." She answered immediately, but hesitated again when she saw the knowing smile on his face. Even without the years, he seemed to read people expertly by facial expression and body language. "Fine, I have," she remediated defeatedly, "I know this place like my own garden." His deep chuckle made her squirm and blush, "It's annoying, you know, that trait of yours. It's not all that different from Legilimency. Frankly, it should be banned."

"Really?" He responded with mock surprise, followed by an exaggerated pout.

"Yes, it makes me want to punch you in the face."

His chuckle rang louder and merrier, and she felt warm laughter bubbling up her throat as well. Laughter, then a sour sensation that seized her throat. How I've missed you, she wanted to say desperately.

"Ah, I see you two have gotten well acquainted with each other, no?" Armando's voice shook her back to reality, and Albus immediately stood aside.

"Have you managed to find your Every Flavor Beans, Sir?" Albus recovered much sooner.

"It took a bit of effort and shoving customers aside, but I've gotten several boxes all right," Armando gestured to a larger package he had levitated behind him. He waved his wand and the box promptly fell onto Minerva's stack, which he took over in levitation. She whispered her thanks and tucked her wand back into the belt of her dress.

"I better get going then," Albus excused himself, catching Minerva's eye as he bowed. She looked dazed, as if she was caught up in her own world. "See you tomorrow at the sorting ceremony, Professors."

* * *

Albus stopped abruptly at the door of the Gryffindor Common Room when he saw two strangers sitting at the fireplace. Students were not due to return until September first on the Hogwarts Express, though it was not uncommon for those who used different means to have arrived earlier. In two strides, he was close enough to acknowledge their crimson robes and the furry capes, and immediately he had put a name to their uniform.

"May I help you, gentlemen?"

The shorter of the two approached Albus immediately, whereas the taller, blond-haired man remained facing the fireplace. "Good heavens, you must be the famous Albus Dumbledore," he said, shaking Albus's hand enthusiastically.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr.-"

"The name's Harvey. Harvey Ridgebit," the young man had dark hair, uncommonly thick eyebrows, and was looking curiously at Albus through his round, black-rimmed glasses, "Glad to see that snapshot of you in the press wasn't too off, eh? Wouldn't be able to recognize you if they'd pulled another one like they did with poor Starkey. Looked every bit a madwoman on the front page, she did. I've heard so much about you and your research on dragon's blood, Mr. Dumbledore. I myself am a big fan of the Peruvian Vipertooth, and the pieces you've published were groundbreaking, especially regarding the potential cure for Dragon Pox. I cannot express how excited I am to finally meet you in person."

Before Albus could respond, the other man intercepted dryly, "Cut to the chase, Ridgebit."

"We're talking to Mr. Dumbledore here, in the flesh!" Harvey exclaimed. "I've only seen him on the Daily Prophet, you know. That monochrome print doesn't do justice to his hair."

"He meant to say we're exchange students from Durmstrang Institute. We're just finding ourselves a place to sleep, preferably four-posters that wouldn't break our necks," the blond-haired man stood up, straightening his robes as he did. He emitted a no-nonsense aura that echoed his tone and vocabulary. "Gellert Grindelwald," he introduced himself, shaking Albus's hand rigidly.

"Albus Dumbledore," Albus offered. From his grip, his skin was unusually cold for a man who was sitting right by the fireplace. "It's an honor."

"Likewise," Gellert nodded curtly. "You can pay him no mind, he's hopeless." He said none too softly, gesturing to Harvey. The shorter man, who still looked rather giddy from glee, did not seem offended by his statement.

"I can appreciate an expression of enthusiasm, particularly from those who share common interests," Albus responded defensively, removing his hand as he sensed the hostility in the air.

"Interesting," Gellert smirked, "You've gained yourself a new follower."

"Come," Albus turned to lead the way out of the Gryffindor Tower. He did not feel comfortable sharing a conversation with Gellert, though he could not imagine anyone enjoying a chat with the high and haughty. "I'll find you a place to stay."

* * *

"Is there something you would like to talk about?"

They were walking side-by-side up the hill, Minerva's hand in Armando's as they tried maintaining their balance on the rather unforgiving slope.

Minerva looked up, momentarily startled. When she saw that Armando's expression was not of suspicion, but of concern, her heartbeat returned to its normal pace. "Why do you ask?"

"When I got out of Honeydukes, you looked quite flustered," Armando said thoughtfully as he guided her off the grass and onto the pavement as they neared the castle. "I was worried, thinking perhaps Mr. Dumbledore said something out of line. He's a nice lad, I know, but I couldn't help thinking about it."

"Oh, no," Minerva smiled, "It was nothing like that." She deliberated what she could tell Armando, knowing the man would not be satisfied without a proper explanation. Deep in her heart, she wanted a listener as well, someone she could trust with her secret. She knew, better than anyone, that the secret must remain what it is. But surely, if she transformed it into a story-

"Mr. Dumbledore just- he reminded me of a very close friend," Minerva explained, stretching the smile on her face in demonstration of her strength. "A friend who has been with me for a big part of my life, accompanying me through every moment of bliss and dread. When he was gone, I was completely lost. There was nothing that remained, nothing save darkness in a bottomless void. It took me years to walk out of his shadow. I thought I did-" She trailed off with a choke that she intended to sound like a careless laugh, but it came out sounding pathetic, like a whimper. She turned to read her companion's expression, and suddenly she realized they had stopped walking altogether. He stood close to her, his arms open and his eyes understanding.

Vulnerability hit her full force as tears streamed down her face. She sank into his arms, feeling his soothing touch on her hair. "I thought I did," she uttered softly between sobs, "I thought if I tried hard enough, I could make my life complete without him. I was alone, but for once, invincible. Nothing could hurt me anymore. Then-" she remembered the silly banters she had shared with Albus, the late night chats and their tallied chess games. It were those seemingly insignificant, habitual moments that hurt her most. The empty office she turned to when she wanted to share her accomplishments, the empty seat she faced when she laid out her chessboard. "When I saw him, it all came back to me. Without him, no matter how hard I try, my life just wouldn't be the same."

He held her slender body flush against his, waiting for her sobs to subside. "Shhh," he soothed, rubbing her back gently. "It's going to be all right," he repeated softly into her ear.

"I've missed him, I've missed him so much." Her voice was cracking, and her fingers would not stop shaking as she grasped the fabric of his robes in handfuls.

Armando had no idea the weight she carried on her shoulders. He felt as if he had only seen her for the first time. As a woman, not as the formidable witch he had conversed with at the meeting, not the one he felt inclined to offer three positions in one day, but an exposed, heartbroken woman who wanted nothing more than comfort. Lowering his glance, he watched her, marvelling at her beauty. He didn't know if it was pity, sympathy, or love at first sight, but he felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance between them.

For that reason, he did the unthinkable. He kissed her.

* * *

Behind them, walking from tower to tower was a trio comprised of two Durmstrang visitors and one Albus Dumbledore. All was well until someone decided to break the silence.

"Look who's snogging!" Harvey nudged Albus with his elbow, pointing at the forecourt. Albus's eyes widened when he caught onto the lip-locked couple from afar. Having seen them not two hours ago, their choice of attire was unmistakable.

Armando Dippet and Minette Marie.

Gellert snorted and Harvey snickered, but Albus looked away determinedly, his eyes fixed on the path before him, not one sound escaping his mouth.

He didn't know why, but he felt sick to the stomach.

* * *

_Author's Note: We're so getting rid of Armando Dippet._

_Thank you _uma ramrup _*shoves fruit basket into arms* for your *shower with chocolate sprinkles* lovely reviews *cue rainbow balloons raining from the ceiling* on all my stories *shoves whole pack of chibi!Minerva-chans (keeping the chibi-Albuses for myself) on suffocating reviewer*! Ah- you keep me on track, you do. _

_To dear _dsky_, hmm, I've actually had a thought about why that would be the case._ _I've read a few ADMM time-travel fics up here that were really well-written and inspirational, mostly AU / with a span of around or less than 50 years to put the main characters at around the same age. I do think this setup (hundred-year travel / reverse teacher-student) is less common because I myself am trying to work around the age difference (don't ask)._


	4. Goddess of Wisdom

Minerva replayed the events of the night in her shower, groaning in embarrassment as she went. First she was holding onto Armando's shoulders, then she was crying, feeling exposed and lonely. After that, for some unfathomable reason, he bent down and kissed her.

It wasn't unpleasant… but it wasn't entirely pleasant. In fact, he tasted of the most recent Every Flavor Beans he had bitten into, and she was not all that sure what it was she tasted. She then admitted it was a little unpleasant. But most importantly, he wasn't Albus. So naturally, she didn't respond. She pulled away, aghast. Then she slapped him.

She swore she had heard loud whistles and cheers coming from the castle.

Come morning, he had sent her at least a dozen letters explaining his mistake, reiterating that he was not taking advantage of her vulnerability the night before. His owl must have gotten bored from flying back and forth some time after, for the animal refused to leave her window sill after her eleventh reply. She wondered how bad he must have felt when her replies ceased coming, and he might have thought her so furious that she detained his owl.

At breakfast, she promptly told him - thrice, in reassurance - that she had forgiven him. In fact, she had gotten rather annoyed at his insistence, but stating the truth would only have added to his panic. She then lent him a concealer and explained its application. When he still looked completely dumbfounded, she helped him apply a generous mass over the purple bruise in the shape of a hand on his left cheek. They were on friendly, speaking terms after, but he was still hesitant in standing too close to her.

* * *

Alas, the day had to go on.

She fixed her hair in a bun, thinking it would bring back a sense of normalcy, and headed for the library. Not half an hour later, she was thoroughly engrossed in a Transfiguration article that she thought was immensely inspirational. Strangely, it was never featured in any of the journals she had read in her time. She noted the author's initials to be "M.M.", just like hers. For some illogical, unexplainable reason, she felt proud reading it. There was not one single mistake. For the first time since picking up a Transfiguration journal in her youth, she did not pull out a red pen to rewrite the article. How wonderful, she thought, setting the journal down. She would very much want to meet the author.

"May I sit with you?"

She wanted to groan, really she did. After Armando, she had to deal with him? The Hogwarts Express hadn't even arrived yet and the entire library was empty! Couldn't he have taken over another library furnishing without having to bother her? But she told herself to control her infamous Scottish temper and looked into the bright blue eyes of the devil. She thought he looked rather smug. "Yes," sarcasm drained her voice, "do make yourself comfortable."

Albus plunged a heavy stack of books - no less than ten - onto the space beside her, as if to deliberately show her that he would not be gone anytime soon. He sat down with a grateful "thank you".

She on the other hand immediately shut her journal and made a move to leave.

"Are you leaving?" He asked, clearly amused.

"I should be getting ready for the sorting ceremony," she said coldly.

"I see," he pondered thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. She noticed his lack of facial hair compared to his older self. There was a hint of a stubble, but he must have been quite thorough in his morning rituals. She wondered when he had started to grow his beard out, but it was definitely not at seventeen. "What preparations do you have to make?"

Minerva's mind whirled furiously. Indeed, what preparations did she need? She had led the ceremony for fifty years, many of which involved Albus speaking words of wisdom, Filius orchestrating the Frog Choir, and she putting the Sorting Hat on first years' heads. Putting on a hat needed no preparation, none at all. Except plucking said hat from the Headmaster's office, but Albus had always brought the hat along during these occasions. Logically, Armando would, too. "Many," she concluded, pulling away from the table.

"Would you like my help then?" Albus offered with a polite smile, he too rising from his seat as if he was getting prepared to follow her. "Perhaps I can…" He made an expression to demonstrate that he was thinking extremely hard to come up with some sort of preparation she might need for the ceremony. She wanted to throw him out the window. "Ah!" He exclaimed in mock delight, "I can draw a map to show you where you can find me at the ceremony. I'll be leading the newcomers, after all."

"That will not be necessary, Mr. Dumbledore. I do appreciate the thought." She said dismissively.

"How are you so sure?" He smirked.

She felt the heat rising to her head. Biting down whatever curse she had at the back of her throat, she hissed, "I beg your pardon?"

"You've never been here, have you, Professor Marie? You might know Beauxbatons, you might know their Lisbon branch campus, but Hogwarts-" he paused, stepping away from the bench to pace around her as he all but taunted, "How well can you know a castle when you've only been here for two days?"

"You'll be surprised," she said icily, clutching the journal to her chest so hard she could feel her nails sinking into the cover. "Besides, I have been here as an exchange student from Beauxbatons, Mr. Dumbledore. You seem to be forgetting the facts."

"I've taken that into account, Madam," he countered easily. "Well then, as an _exchange student_," he lengthened the syllables, drawing out the word as he saw her blanch, "You haven't been to a single sorting ceremony. If Beauxbatons itself does not have one, I doubt that their branch campus in Lisbon would. Allow me to assist you, Professor, unless you want the ceremony to go… less than smooth."

Minerva was fuming. She could not fathom how teachers would compliment this man, this unbearable, annoying, telepathic cockroach of a student- he looked so complacent standing there, his arguments justified and hers invalidated. She felt like a cornered animal, and probably looked like one to him. The window was just five feet away. Surely she was talented enough to flee a sentence to Azkaban if she committed murder on the spot.

"I appreciate your offer," every word she pronounced she had to avoid biting her tongue. She was also aware that her accent was becoming obvious in her fury. "Perhaps you could assist me by leading the students to the top of the staircase before the Great Hall, Mr. Dumbledore? Then as dimwitted as I may be, I wouldn't need a map to find a hundred students waiting three feet within my being."

Albus seemed satisfied with her answer, for he backed down and stopped his incessant pacing. He could tell his slow, calculated steps were driving her insane - just the effect he aimed for. Detecting the Scottish lilt despite her proclaimed French background, he steadfastly ruled off Toulouse and confirmed that Caithness was indeed her hometown. Which meant, as he had doubted all along, that her French first name and surname were also questionable.

"Absolutely, Professor." He bowed, as if he was a knight offering his services. She tried her best not to roll her eyes.

"Now if you would excuse me-"

She turned away from him, still somewhat mad and flustered, when a name caught her mid-step.

"Minerva."

Her jaw dropped, her breath hitched, her heart stopped thudding. Ever so slowly, she turned around, trying to control the swirling of the world around her.

He took in her blanched face, her eyes wide open, and smiled. Picking up a book from his stack, he casually remarked, "You reminded me of the Roman goddess of wisdom, Professor. I thought that name would have suited you, especially when you used the word 'dimwitted' on yourself."

It was not a sentimental remark, for he had deliberately chosen the 'Encyclopedia of Greek and Roman Mythology' to put on the top of his stack. It had the flashiest print of a title he had ever seen, and the cover image was of Minerva the goddess, holding a sword with her sacred creature - an owl - perched on a stand behind her. Granted, he transfigured the cover image. The original cover had about ten other gods and goddesses that he had absolutely no interest in. He might have acted on his assumptions, but he was never without a plan. And as always, he was prepared to the last detail.

His smile faltered, however, when the scene unfolded before him. Color returned to her face, then flooded it unceremoniously - red washing all over her cheeks, her ears, then her eyes. Suddenly he felt guilty - terrible even, when her eyes had become wet and red, and she looked as if she was about to cry. Then as quickly as it had unfolded, she had regrasped her composure and acted as if nothing had happened. The color drained from her face, and her hands stopped shaking. Only the wetness that remained along the brim of her eyes confirmed that what he saw was not his imagination.

"Thank you," she said with a strained voice, "I'll assume that was a compliment."

Yet her eyes conveyed only one message in his interpretation. "That is a sick, sick joke," she seemed to say as she blinked back tears, "How could you?"

"You're welcome. See you tonight, Professor." Albus watched soundlessly as she placed her journal into the returns basket and walked out without another glance. He had lifted his first book off the stack, but he assumed she did not see what was underneath.

Refolded to feature another article on the front page, he found himself staring at the picture of Minerva Murray, the most established witch at the forefront of Transfiguration research. Tracing the moving image with his fingers, he pondered over what he had just seen, and what her reaction meant. Those emerald eyes, he thought as he watched Minerva Murray turn towards the camera, her back straight and her hands folded serenely before her.

They looked so similar.

* * *

Minerva found Albus right by the entrance of the Great Hall as he had promised. He looked quite dashing in his student robes, she admitted, but also comical in the way he shielded the first years protectively from the wandering ghosts like a duck around her inexperienced little ducklings.

She nodded serenely as she took over, and recited her introduction to the first years. She saw at the corner of her eye that he looked quite impressed by her fluency in delivering the speech. She refrained from telling him she had done it so many times that she could recite it backwards with a poker face and the students would not dare tell her they did not understand.

She was hit by a wave of nostalgia when she entered the hall. What made her pause was the small back facing her, coordinating the singing. It ended as soon as she approached the man, and she could not contain her surprise. "Filius!" She exclaimed, her voice weighed down by the applause that followed the performance.

"Yes, Madam?" Filius Flitwick displayed a friendly smile despite his confusion. Had he met this woman before?

Minerva immediately recognized his student robes, and scolded herself for her momentary outburst. She should be glad that Albus was standing by the doorway still, guiding the last of the first-years into the hall. "The Headmaster mentioned your name as the leader of the school choir. I was just testing to see if I got that name right." She winked at him, hoping he would think her as a playful professor attempting to make a joke with her student. Teachers' jokes most often ended up awkward, she recalled, so the more awkward, the better. Besides, if he had maintained as long of a friendship with Albus as he had claimed later, he would not be new to this sort of eccentricity.

Realization took the form of a blush on young Filius. "You've got it right then, Madam," he mumbled, embarrassed, and followed his fellow choir members off the stage.

Minerva sighed, telling herself again that she needed to stop getting surprised at seeing people she knew. They would all come eventually. That is, if she did not end up wrecking the timeline.

The ceremony proceeded as planned, with Armando explaining the school rules and introducing the Sorting. Minerva held the Sorting Hat in her hands as she stood beside the tall chair where the student to be Sorted would sit. She was listening to Armando's little speech when a familiar, small voice entered her head.

"Miss McGonagall," it exclaimed in surprise, "We meet again."

Startled, but knowing she was on center stage and could not afford to speak, she stayed silent and stared at the hat.

"Yes, it's me. The one who brought you to this time," the hat drawled casually, "You want to know why? You should ask the Headmaster then, he's standing right across the hall, isn't he? No, not that one, we both know which one."

A deathly glare did nothing to the hat. He continued to infiltrate her thoughts. "Have you been enjoying your stay? Come now, it couldn't have been that stressful, unless you've been facing the Headmaster himself head-on. In which case, my condolences. Ah, you want to go back? Well, what did we agree on before? All you have to do is ask."

A time-turner abruptly materialized within the crown. Without thinking, Minerva plunged her hand into the hat, searching for the device. Yet no matter how she sifted within the contents, she could not feel anything between her fingers.

"No, no," the hat scolded. "That's not how it works, Miss McGonagall. You've got to experience it, then you decide. What good is making a decision without knowing what you're about to miss? The Headmaster is slightly worried about your display, Professor Marie. It's best not to assault a hat in public, don't you agree?"

Minerva snapped back into reality with a look of horror. Armando was staring at her worriedly, and the students gave her curious looks. She withdrew her hand and held the hat by the brim. "Ahem, may the Sorting begin," the Headmaster announced, and she could see from his expression that he had repeated the statement.

She swore the venom in her mind had seeped into her voice when she called out the first name on the list. The first year walked forward and sat shivering in the chair. Minerva knew at that moment that with or without her hair down, she would promptly become Hogwarts's most feared professor.

* * *

Thankfully, the rest of the ceremony did go as planned. Armando introduced her as the Transfiguration mistress, Head of Gryffindor, and Deputy Headmistress, much to the students' horror after her little display.

It was more to her horror, however, when Albus returned to the hall, followed by two young men wearing the Durmstrang uniform. She was informed beforehand that there were Durmstrang students coming. Merlin's beard, she even arranged for them to be introduced at the ceremony. But never in her mind had she registered who was on the list.

That is, until she faced the very same Gellert Grindelwald who killed her parents, engaging Albus in what she thought to be a highly intellectual discussion.

"I've received a lovely suggestion from our Deputy Headmistress," Armando announced, "We have two visitors from Durmstrang Institute this year who will be joining you in your lessons. Rather than having them introduce themselves individually to their teachers, we thought it would be apt to make these two gentlemen known here and now. Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Gellert Grindelwald and Mr. Harvey Ridgebit, who will be joining the lessons of our seventh year students."

Minerva watched helplessly, feeling as though Lucifer himself was standing before her. She bit her lower lip hard and hid her palms, but even then she felt an overwhelming desire to strangle the man when she had the chance. It would be so easy, she knew, to shriek "Avada Kedavra!" and their Hitler would be no more. Her parents would live. Alas, she would also wreck the timeline, resulting in thousands of unbirths, inevitably revoking the chance to live for all who had known her. Save thousands of lives, but change thousands of others. It was not her decision to make.

The exchange students bowed at their audience, basking in the round of applause.

Albus retreated to her side. "Are you all right?" He whispered.

"How many times are you going to ask me that?" She replied disinterestedly.

"Until you tell me the truth." He looked determinedly at her, as if they were not standing on stage and getting no less attention from the audience than the Durmstrang students.

"How do you feel about Mr. Grindelwald?" She prompted, hoping it sounded subtle and spontaneous.

He shrugged. "Pompous, but with enough wits to justify his attitude, I suppose. Concerned?"

"Why would I be?" She looked away, "It's the Deputy Headmistress's duty to look after her students, in particular those who've arrived as guests to Hogwarts."

"True, but if there's anything you know about him that we don't…" he trailed off expectantly.

"Nothing that isn't on their permanent record, Mr. Dumbledore."

Meanwhile, the Headmaster greeted the two exchange students at center stage and proceeded for a handshake.

"I think you meant a suggestion from your lovely Deputy Headmistress, Headmaster." Gellert whispered suggestively as he shook Armando's hand, earning him an uncomfortable expression from the Headmaster. "Shame about last night."

Armando's discomfort only rose when Harvey shook his hand and seemed to be scrutinizing the almost indistinguishable handprint on the left side of his face. He looked back and forth, from Armando to Minerva, then from Minerva to Armando. Suddenly his observation and their relationship dawned on him, as fresh enlightenment made him beam in excitement. "Oh Merlin, you're the one she slapped!" Harvey exclaimed loudly.

The Great Hall erupted into gasps and gossip, as Armando repressed to no avail with a few weak calls of "silence!". The staff noted that Armando's face was red and Minerva's was white. The staff also noted that Armando's face was red with a 'handful' of purple.

Minerva's eyes trailed off to the Head Boy, who hastily retreated off stage, hiding his grin. Ah, she realized. No wonder he flashed her those smug looks.

* * *

Minerva found Albus again two hours after the feast, engaged in an animated conversation with Gellert Grindelwald. They were sitting in the common area between the Gryffindor Tower and the guest tower where the Durmstrang boys resided. She could not help the unease building within her.

"Hello, gentlemen," She approached them, noting the unwelcoming posture Gellert immediately assumed, as if he was shielding Albus from her sight. Not protectively, she noted, just possessively. "It's almost midnight. I think you two should be returning to your respective dormitories."

Gellert's eyes spat, "I think not," but Albus's tongue was faster to ease the tension. "Thank you for the kind reminder, Professor," he said with what both parties thought was excessive grace, "I'll show you the way back to your dormitory, Gellert." He offered while gesturing at the guest tower.

"I'm not a woman, Dumbledore, I don't need escorting," came the unappreciative answer. Gellert immediately stood from the bench and stormed off to his tower. Albus did not seem offended, though Minerva was slightly worried at his growing capacity to tolerate the man's rudeness. She reminded herself that he would come to tolerate much more.

"You didn't just come across this area, did you?" Albus asked dryly once they were alone. "You have an unhealthy obsession taking the form of surveillance on Gellert Grindelwald."

He sounded cold, distant. Perhaps Gellert's attitude had rubbed off on him, for he sounded more guarded than he was before.

"Perhaps," she said, neither affirming nor denying his suspicions. "Or perhaps I just came about to see that my Gryffindor students are in bed, not wandering about setting fire to the curtains."

His face burned bright crimson at the mention, knowing that somehow she had heard of his fourth year incident. "The color was hideous," he said defensively, nonetheless admitting his part in the 'accident'.

"For a student who achieved top marks in Transfiguration, I don't see how a wand could not settle what torching could."

She was provoking him and steering the conversation skilfully, but he was no ordinary opponent.

"For a teacher that teaches magic, I don't see how a summoning spell couldn't have worked better than fumbling in the Sorting Hat the Muggle way," he snapped, standing and looking her straight in the eye. Not waiting for a response, he pressed, "What appeared in the Sorting Hat?"

"I have no idea what you're insinuating, Mr. Dumbledore," she replied with a cold glare, one that reduced the Headmaster into a panicky mess the night before. It did not have the desired effect on him.

"The Sorting Hat. Something appeared in it," he was leaning closer, his eyes squinting at her as he studied her expression. "You saw it, then you tried to reach for it, but I could tell you didn't find what you wanted."

His posture and tone made it clear that he was threatening her, or at least trying to put some fear into the equation. Albus might be taller, faster, and he might become the strongest wizard of their time, but at that moment, she was still stronger and wiser. Strip that all off her, she would still be Minerva McGonagall. A McGonagall never yields.

"That's preposterous." She snorted in mock disbelief. "In case you haven't noticed, it's a hat, Albus. Things don't magically present themselves in a hat, otherwise we wouldn't need a bag."

"It is a hat charmed by the Founders themselves," he raised his eyebrow. "A hat that possesses magical abilities as sophisticated as Legilimency. I'm not convinced that you did not see something within. Your expression was telltale, and any first year would be happy to play witness to my observations."

She was not surrendering, at least she willed herself not to. "Or you've watched too many Muggle magic shows, in which case they do sacrifice white fluffy bunnies for their rather gullible audience."

"I've seen something, Minerva. I may not always be right but I know you're hiding things." He was determined to win this round, and he felt he was closing in on the truth. The mystery of her intrigued him. He had attributed his attraction for her to the fact that he couldn't read her entirely - at least, not as well as he could with most others. But he swore to solve all mysteries. He always did, even if he had immediately lost interest in those he had conquered.

Her lips were quivering, but he had not yet registered his own wording. "What did you call me?" She stammered, looking down and studying the ground.

"Professor-" He paused, rethinking the conversation, "Oh." He uttered in realization, "Sorry."

She shook her head, biting her lower lip, and suddenly he wasn't sure whether she was mad, confused, or happy. There seemed to be a stifled smile playing at her lips that suggested that she was not as angry as her half-hearted portrayal.

"May I call you that?" He asked softly, trying his luck when she looked up at him, astonished.

"I'm your professor, Albus." She said none too convincingly. In her mind, she was screaming. She wanted to hear her name on his lips. It had been a decade since she had. She had not even known which of his sweet, loving words would be his last until she saw him fall from the tower. She then stood watching a lifeless corpse crash onto the ground, hearing each sickening crack of his bones as his limbs made contact with the surface in sequence. Is it wrong to find a substitute, to try and fill a hole in her heart that she alone could not? It had just occurred to her how ironic it was, that she was seeking solace from the very person who had abandoned her.

"Just… when we're alone, Professor." He said, his hands automatically moving to her shoulders. He felt her warm skin beneath his touch, the loose strands of hair tingling his thumb. Almost unknowingly, he started rubbing her skin lightly in small circles, trying his best to comfort her.

"Why?" She croaked as a combination of guilt and confusion crept into her mind. She was using him, to some degree, using him selfishly so she could imagine him doing all the things his older self had done. Taking advantage of his ignorance. She felt despicable.

He stared straight into her eyes. In the depths of those brilliant blue hues, he looked as omniscient as he was a century older, much unlike the seventeen year old appearance he was donning.

"Because that is your real name, is it not?" Because you would not react this way if it was not, he thought. It was a game of perception, and he was not about to lose. On top of that, Minette was likely the French variation of Minerva. Even without her nodding, he silently ticked the item off his list, removing the French name and replacing it with the name of the Roman goddess. It was too easy.

"You don't like hearing it?" He prompted again, seeing her shake her head weakly. She did not clarify whether it meant she did not like hearing it, or that his assumption was wrong. She did not need to. Gently he pulled her into his arms, caressing the small of her back. "Then I say it again," he smiled, inhaling her scent. She smelled of lavender, light and sweet. Despite his calculated moves, he felt that he genuinely liked holding her close, feeling her with his body, not only his hands and arms.

"Minerva," he whispered softly, rocking her in his arms.

She smiled and shut her eyes. His voice was younger, clearer. Not as throaty with age, and not as authoritative without his experience, career, and accomplishments. It certainly sounded more confident, sounding like a man who would protect her and would never break his promises. He might be different in many ways, but he was still her Albus, speaking her name.

She held him then, enjoying his warmth, feeling his existence despite him being long gone in her world. Ten long, lonely years, and she had not even known how much she missed being in his embrace. There was no need for words, no need for soothing caresses. She allowed her hands on his back, pulling him close.

He was not her Albus, but she would think about that when the moment was over.

Until then, he was her Albus.

She allowed herself to drown in their short, bittersweet embrace, knowing that the moment would not last.

* * *

_Author's Note: If you find Albus or Minerva OOC here, it might help to remember that he's an extremely intelligent but cocky teenager, and she - while experienced - is consumed by her knowledge of the future to some degree. They're equally flawed: he feeds his ego, she cures her heartache. He might think he sees through her, but she's the one who actually knows him more and for much longer. Two days of observation versus half a century of everyday banter. And if that doesn't help... *shrugs* Sorry._

_To _Loki_, thank you for your amazing reviews, I've gone through everything in previous chapters so hopefully I've corrected all my wrongs *hides behind shrub in embarrassment* Also, Gellert's too evil to not include in my story, especially in the 1890s. Whereas Armando serves as nothing but an annoying cockblocker. Honestly, reading those reviews made my day. I look forward to seeing your one-shot! :)_

_Your promptness and your reviewing without fail never ceases to amaze me, _uma ramrup *kisses and hugs*! _As for Armando and Minerva - I know right?! He got what he deserved. I should have given him a black eye._

_Dearest_ ShadowOfTheProphet, _thank you! I'm glad to know you've enjoyed my writing. It really scares me when I see story traffic without an opinion, not knowing what they're thinking, whether it was good or crappy beyond reviewing. Reviews make the best source of motivation!_

Dsky_, you amazing person, I absolutely agree. I like to think Minerva as Albus's equal, and they are in many ways. Perhaps she's not as manipulative as he is, and he not as emotional as she, but everything else - they're perfect for each other, or rather, they complement each other well._


	5. Detention

Minerva spent most parts of the weekend avoiding Albus. She was thankful that her Friday schedule did not involve the seventh years, and she was not due to meet the rather troublesome Head Boy till Monday. The occasional fights and silent treatment over the years had taught her how to effectively ward off the most intelligent wizard of their time.

Then again, he was also one of the most persistent people she had ever met. She was surprised and not when the portrait guarding her chambers alerted her, "A Mr. Dumbledore awaits, Madam."

"Tell him I'm not due to return until Monday morning," she lied.

She heard the portrait relaying the message in a dull voice on the other side of the wall.

Albus was not convinced by the statement, knowing that she was in the castle, merely Flooing in and out of her office while actively avoiding the corridors. He had been researching about the Sorting Hat since they dropped the subject of the mysterious object hidden within, but to no avail.

There was no 'Minerva Marie' anywhere in the records of wizarding population, although he did happen upon a 'Minnie Marie' who graduated from Beauxbatons about sixty years ago. Said Marie excelled at Defence Against the Dark Arts and was rightly involved with journal publications. As he delved deeper, Minnie Marie was involved in an unresolved homicide. So his seemingly innocent, heartbroken professor had the courage and foresight to assume a dead woman's identity. Still, Headmaster Dippet's inspection of her records must have been horribly insufficient. Or he was simply too enthralled by her looks to think thoroughly.

He had observed her from afar despite her careful avoidance, and came to realize that while she did not put up a good front in his presence, she was generally a competent actress around the others. Which led to more confusion - why him? She performed aptly in front of the now tenser Headmaster, her colleagues, and looked every bit the stern, authoritative professor before her students. Yet she seemed equally timid and frustrated before him, as if she had some deep, dark secret that only he was capable of uncovering.

It was less interesting and more thwarting that she refused to see him after their little episode on Thursday night. He had won and lost that round; finding out her name, but not about her exchange with the Sorting Hat. He had intended to uncover everything, but five days had passed since her appearance and she was still in many ways a mystery.

Intriguing, nonetheless. He licked his lips as he made his way back to his dormitories. Gellert had purposefully laid out a few world maps and Muggle newspapers on his bed, and was allegorically drooling over the events of the Spanish-American War. About five strides away, one would notice thumb-sized paper-cut warriors, charmed and fighting their way across the map. Gellert was none too pleased when Albus ignored his meticulous arrangement and laid flatly onto it upon his return.

"What are you doing?" Gellert almost threw his arms in the air in shock. He quickly salvaged the pieces that were not crushed under the man's weight.

"Planning," Albus replied simply. With the mischievous spark in his eyes, Gellert was certain that the Gryffindor's plans had little to do with his own. Albus was about to point out that it was his bed that Gellert had decided to build his artistic masterpiece on when the blond-haired man stormed out of his dormitory muttering something insulting about his prominent backside.

He crossed his arms behind his head and settled into comfort, a certain emerald-eyed witch floating gracefully into his mind as he shut his eyes. His interests on specific people were never lasting. He preferred observing the masses, generalizing their behavior and analyzing their responses. They were all the same - unthinking, gullible, selfish, unwittingly transfixed by the present, and foreseeing little of the future. Though he had never presented himself that way in front of his peers, he felt somewhat understood when Gellert Grindelwald expressed a similar sentiment, despite stretching his philosophies farther.

Yet thinking about Minerva Marie had him in a trance. If Gellert had understood his grand philosophies, Minerva seemed to understand his person. With Gellert, all was logical and justified. Their attraction stemmed from sharing similar ambitions and being intellectually compatible. But with Minerva, it was all subconscious, from their banters and chuckles, to the way she would put her arms around his neck to hold him close during an embrace, to her infuriating but successful attempts at avoiding him altogether. She seemed capable of anticipating his whereabouts at every turn and was always one step ahead. Eerie as the situation was, he felt as though they complemented each other naturally, like two halves of a whole coming together.

True, he was never interested in specific people, but now he had to make an exception as he had come to an interesting conclusion.

Minerva Marie had become his new obsession.

* * *

Relief - layered with slight disappointment - had filled Minerva when Albus Dumbledore did not attend his first lesson. Her double lesson on Monday morning was with the seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins - an upsetting combination of hotheaded and cool-headed troublemakers, who had an infamous reputation of boosting the staff's demand for dreamless sleeping potions from the Hospital Wing. It was fortunate that she had developed an effective control over these thriving little devils after half a century. The bloodcurdling cry from Professor Bathsheda Babbling's classroom reminded her of her earlier days.

Her heels clicked as she strolled around the classroom, observing her students, noting their personalities, and contemplating a different approach for each individual based on her observations. Professor Roche had left behind numerous reports on their learning progress, and though the man was not the most observant or intelligent teacher in Scotland, judging from the quality of his notes, he was certainly a devoted teacher. She watched from behind how the Durmstrang students were fitting in with her class. While the addition of Gellert Grindelwald was not particularly welcomed, Harvey Ridgebit's energetic attitude had made the duo reasonably more approachable.

At precisely ten minutes past her second lesson, Albus Dumbledore slammed both doors open and waltzed into her classroom. He was without a hint of remorse or an avalanche of ready-made excuses. Already Minerva felt the onset of a headache.

"Sit down, Mr. Dumbledore," she commanded coldly. She was never kind to late arrivals, but she preferred not to have this conversation. Yet when she turned again after scribbling her instructions on the blackboard, he was still standing at the center of the aisle, waiting patiently. She sighed, her fingers clutching the chalk tightly in her agitation, "Is there something you want?"

"I suppose I'm late, Professor," he said casually, rubbing his hands in mock apprehension. Not "Sorry I'm late", or "I overslept and none of my Gryffindor mates woke me up", which he had ought to say in this occasion. The obvious disbelief from the Gryffindors and the amusement from the Slytherins immediately told her that Albus Dumbledore was never late. Never on the first day, never on the last, or any in between.

"Quite," she agreed, masking her fury. You suppose? You're an hour late, she thought heatedly, and in your first lesson of the semester. She had had students crying in terror for accidentally missing half an hour of her lesson, and stumbled in not without a four feet parchment worth of excuses. Alas, Albus continued to push the boundaries of her tolerance. While she was not new to impudence, she had never thought that Hogwarts's model student would be the one to cause trouble in her lessons.

Her eyes traveled to Gellert Grindelwald, who sat obediently - despite having his legs propped up on his desk - conjuring and vanishing his books over and over again with a look of boredom. How ironic that the second most powerful dark wizard of their time actually followed her instructions and caused nothing more than an eyesore with his boots on the table, whereas their hero proceeded to waltz in late and provoke the teacher. If she should live long enough, she would have an interesting story to tell Poppy and Rolanda.

"Teachers would usually give detentions," he smiled innocently. The look in his eyes was anything but.

"You'll come to find that I'm not like most teachers-" she began, seeking a way out, but quickly realized that her attitude would not do. She had been trying so hard to maintain an air of authority, yet first day she was allowing a severely late student to go unpunished. She doubted any of her students would be on time from this occasion onward. He was pushing her hand knowingly. She made up her mind and finished, "But your attitude would not go unpunished, Mr. Dumbledore. Ten points from Gryffindor. See me at eight o'clock tonight."

"At your office, Professor?" He asked with an almost hopeful expression.

"The Detention Chamber, Mr. Dumbledore," She snapped coldly, before attending to her class again. She noticed him slipping into the seat beside Gellert, and while huffing and casting a rather annoyed look at him, the latter moved his belongings, allowing the late Gryffindor to be his neighbor.

* * *

The bell rang thrice, but Albus did not leave with the rest of her students.

"Don't you have another lesson now?" She asked with masked annoyance. He had deliberately brought along a ton of unusual but purposeless articles to spread on his desk, and was now packing them with fastidious effort. Spotting a cloudy crystal ball among his many possessions, she had to consciously suppress her grunt. Her past students had known better than to bring tea cups into her classroom, yet he had had the nerve to carry along a crystal ball the size of a watermelon.

He clasped his bag and placed it on the table. It must have been placed with an undetectable extension charm, for the bag was as flat as it was before the giant crystal ball went into it.

"I'm skipping it," he explained offhandedly.

"You're-," Minerva shook her head. "That is a terrible learning attitude, Mr. Dumbledore. I am your Head of House and am duly responsible for following your academic performance-"

"Worry not, Professor. I do exceedingly well in all my subjects," he interjected.

"Your disregard for school work tells me that it will not last," she chided. Rounding her desk, she stood next to it on the stage, towering over Albus who sat at the front row. "May I ask why you feel the need to stay in my classroom during your self-proclaimed free period?"

He leaned back snugly against the back of his seat, his auburn hair falling to frame his face. Her eyes trailed past his then prominent cheekbones, across his sturdy jaw line, then at his lips, which he thinned in thought - features she had not studied closely enough because of his stubborn facial hair in his later years. He was younger, yes, but the shape of his face had not changed, and his features had only softened marginally over time. He still squeezed his lips flat in contemplation. There were still distinguishable clues here and there that suggested he would become the man in her memory.

He folded his hands together in all seriousness, his left thumb on his right - every detail concurring with the image in her mind. "Because you have been avoiding me the entire weekend, Minerva." He explained, allowing time for his tongue to wrap around each syllable in his provocation.

She glowered visibly, but he was disappointed to see that his use of her name no longer garnered the expected effect. She seemed to have accepted whatever truth she had in mind over a weekend of avoidance. "Don't call me that," she protested eventually. Her voice sounded much calmer and distant than in either of their predictions.

Albus stood from his seat, the tips of his fingers still lingering on the surface of his desk as he leaned forward. "I did hear that it is your name, Professor. With all due respect, addressing you as such is the purpose of having one."

"We are in a classroom, Mr. Dumbledore," she stressed, tapping her fingers on her desk impatiently. Her gaze swept across the doors, which were open with a slit as the last student had left them. "It is in our best interests that you address me as Professor. I do not want to risk… ill-natured gossip."

"You say it as if you would allow me had it been another setting," he pointed out.

"Regretfully it is not."

"Regretfully indeed," he caught on immediately, and watched her flinch involuntarily. "Though it would have been wise to lock the door and use a silencing charm," he suggested.

The doors behind him smashed back into the jambs as a strong gust of wind traveled past his sides, followed by an audible click of a lock and a whirl of magic that she recognized to be a counter charm to Alohomora. His wand laid untouched on his desk. She knew she could outdo him now, without effort and without question. Nonetheless, for him to cast three wandless charms simultaneously at his age, it was impressive.

Yet the last thing he needed was her encouragement to his flaunting behavior. "You have missed the first assessment today, while I was judging students' progress from previous semesters." She stated flatly, hoping to draw at least some disappointment out of him. "You could have impressed me with your skills rather than your tardiness."

"Yes, for that I apologize," he dipped his head without breaking eye contact. "Though I am inclined to think Professor Roche had put in a satisfactory comment on my progress from previous years." His confident tone implied that he knew exactly what comments he yielded from the late professor. Of course, Professor Roche was nothing but impressed by the young wizard, for if words translated into actions, he would have placed Albus Dumbledore on a pedestal.

"None at all," she countered stiffly, "And with your attitude you will not get any while I'm teaching."

"Then I struggle to think what other students would attain," he shrugged carelessly.

"You have a knack for causing trouble," she grumbled in irritation.

"Only in your lesson, Professor. Your colleagues would beg to say otherwise."

She almost bit her tongue, wanting to tell him that she had caused no trouble in his lessons when he had taught the subject. He should at least be grateful enough to return her favor. He did not allow her much time to think as he crossed his bench and stepped closer to her. Their height were at once level, with her standing on stage and being one step taller.

Almost experimentally, he reached out to touch her hand, and her heart skipped a beat despite herself. But instead of feeling his hand on hers, it dropped to her waist. Effectively he earned himself a heartfelt glare from his infuriated professor. Yet he saw - or he hoped he did - an almost indiscernible trail of anticipation beneath the misleading cloak of dread. Her pupils dilated by a fraction, giving him the much needed push forward.

"What do you think you're doing?" She ground out between clenched teeth, telling herself to move. Yet her feet wouldn't budge despite her better judgement.

"Picking up where we left off," he teased, his voice calm and his composure intact. Yet despite his unaffected front, he was screaming her question at himself. What was he thinking? As he clasped both hands on the sides of her waist, even he marveled at his own courage. He had been nothing but courteous to women throughout his adolescent years. There had never been one glance or touch out of place, and not one word spoken without careful consideration. Yet there he stood, consumed by a confusing rush of mindless bravery and momentary avidity. Excitement coursed through his muddled mind, daring him to push her boundaries. He felt blood rushing south as his hands instinctively followed the alluring curve of her body beneath the robes she donned.

"Take your hands off me," she warned, her voice still cold and stern. Her heart was pounding nonetheless, and his breathing was turning shallower by the second.

"Do you really want me to?"

Yes. No. She shook her head sternly. It was not a matter of what she desired, because Merlin knows she had desired Albus Dumbledore for as long as she could remember. But he, young Albus, knew of nothing but misplaced lust. While physical attraction constituted a facet of their relationship, it was by no means the most significant or the most memorable. For some unfathomable reason, he now desired her - or he was pretending to, without even knowing her, and that fact alone was painful to acknowledge. He was a child. His ignorance gnawed at her conscience.

"Now, Mr. Dumbledore. Unless you prefer regrowing your hands at St. Mungo's."

Her heaving chest did not go unnoticed by him, his shallow breathing did not go unnoticed by her. Their attraction was not diminished by their age. His youth added recklessness, her loneliness spiked her longing.

Reluctantly, his hands fell back to his side. "You should learn to tell the truth someday, Professor."

Then today is not the day, she thought, without daring to admit it aloud. She was immensely relieved to hear the growing clatter of footsteps behind the locked door. "Before you set a bad example for my first years to follow, I suggest you leave so I can prepare for my next lesson."

His eyes dimmed for a moment, then the mischievous spark returned as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder. Without breaking eye contact, he bid her goodbye, "We'll meet again in the evening then, Professor."

* * *

Albus was on his way to the dungeons when a familiar voice caught him from behind. He turned to greet his best friend. "Good morning, Elphias."

Elphias Doge was panting by the time he had caught up with Albus. Contacting Dragon Pox shortly before attending Hogwarts had left him with a nasty green tinge on his skin, and visible scars from his rashes. Despite his quick recovery, the disease left his immune system weaker than average and him susceptible to all seasonal diseases that came about. Chasing after Albus down a hallway was about as much his weakened body allowed without him collapsing into an unconscious heap on school grounds.

He quickly eyed Albus up and down upon reaching him. The pointy hat he wore dipped as he rested his hands on his knees and breathed heavily, allowing his air passages to relax.

"Professor Merrythought was worried when you didn't show up for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Did something happen?" He finally asked between ragged breaths.

"I was caught up with something, yes. I will owl her my apology."

"Here, your set of notes," Elphias fumbled in his bag and eventually pulled out a stack of paper. He handed him a neatly written pile. "I used the Gemino curse but I'm not particularly good at transfiguration," he explained hurriedly. "If it reverts to some unreadable rotten parchment by sunset, just come around and I'll duplicate another set from my notes. Or better yet, you should charm it yourself."

"Oh, thank you," Albus took the pile and skimmed a few lines, noting the detailed diagrams Elphias had managed to incorporate. The quality of the duplicate was less impressive, but nothing a few charms would not cure. He beamed, "What would I do without you?"

"Outstandingly, still," Elphias grinned back. His expression dropped into a worried grimace. "Rumor has it that you got detention from Marie, is that right? I overheard Richardson talking. The Slytherins were delighted that you managed to score one on the first day."

Albus nodded, as Elphias's eyes widened. "So it's true. But how? You've never gotten detention before."

"I was late by an hour," Albus shrugged casually.

"An hour?" Elphias echoed, aghast. "What in Merlin's name were you doing this morning?"

"Taking a nice, long bath in the Prefects' Bathroom."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"For an hour?"

"Yes," Albus cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "And taking Fawkes to Aberdeen. He quite liked the scenery there."

"In an hour?"

"Yes, Elphias."

"But why?" Elphias repeated, making a gesture to check Albus's temperature. Albus quickly dodged his hand. "Have you finally lost it after studying for ten N.E.W.T.s? I've told you to drop a subject! In fact, I've told you to drop five of them."

"No, I'm perfectly level-headed."

Elphias shook his head as if to clear his mind. "Just stay ahead of everything, Albus. I know you do-" he emphasized quickly as Albus opened his mouth to protest. "I just don't want to see you slip in your seventh year."

"And I was just going to assure you that that will not happen."

Elphias nodded halfheartedly. Then he lowered his voice. "You weren't there to hear this, but I was eavesdropping on Merrythought and her Slytherins after the lesson. You do realize that the Triwizard Tournament is this year, right?"

"I've heard, yes."

"Right," he nodded readily, "Merrythought was asking Slughorn and Gaunt to throw their names into the Goblet."

"Slughorn?" Albus repeated, amusement in his features. Horace Slughorn participating in the Triwizard Tournament? He imagined Slughorn's purported supporters wailing over his battered body on the first day of the competition, as the Champions of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons swipe pass nonchalantly while congratulating each other on an obstacle well eradicated. "His Slug Club members would be quick to stop him, would they not?"

Slughorn had apparently amassed almost a dozen supporters from the younger Slytherins, and named his followers members of the Slug Club. No one above third year took him seriously, but Albus supposed there was a certain appeal to newcomers in being the favorites of a rather high-profile seventh year Slytherin. The man often complimented the younger members in compensation, so it was equally satisfying for both parties' self-esteem. Slughorn did excel at Potions, earning him an academically credible title to go with his growing ego.

"Well obviously Slughorn's not going to do it, with or without their support." Elphias smirked. "The same way that he roots for Slytherins in Quidditch but never makes it to the game. He just likes playing witness to drama. But Gaunt's considering. So are the Blacks."

Albus hummed in contemplation, whereas Elphias continued his speculation. "If you ask me, Belvina's out of the question, but Arcturus's not bad a strategist. What do you think?"

"It's too early to tell, isn't it? The Tournament is not due to begin until Christmas."

"Never too early for you. I bet you anything Marie's dying to ask you to join the competition. You know for sure that the Goblet would choose your name should you participate on Hogwarts's behalf. Besides, it'll look good on Gryffindor if you beat the Slytherins in becoming Hogwarts's Champion."

Albus did pause to think whether Minerva would ask him to join. Entry into the Tournament was voluntary, but it was also customary that the Heads of Houses give their favorites an extra push. Then again, he was probably far from being her favorite; not far from making her least favorite, though.

Elphias lowered his voice again and nudged Albus nervously. "One more thing, I've had a chat with Ridgebit, the newbie from Durmstrang - nice lad by the way, a bit straightforward, but quite clever in his research. Anyway, I've gathered a bit about Durmstrang's proposal for the Tournament. They're boasting about a fourth year that goes by the name of Karkaroff, but it sounds to me that the real opponent is Grindelwald. Ridgebit himself says Grindelwald is the best of Durmstrang. I think that's why they sent him here as an exchange student in the first place: so he has the opportunity to observe his competition. I have nothing but dislike for the man, I'm telling you. The way he sits there just irks me, I mean, who sits with their boots up during lesson time?"

He crossed his arms disapprovingly, earning an amused glance from Albus. Then he went on, pacing back and forth in agitation as he did, "We had a short demonstration during the lesson, and he was nothing less than outstanding, quite like yourself. Except there was this dark aura that followed his magic." He shuddered, clenching his teeth as he wrapped his arms around himself, "I don't think the others saw as much, but I've seen you do wonderful things with your magic, Albus. His has the same intensity, but it was just… off. Wrong, even. If your magic brought about life, his magic was the equivalent of death. Don't ask me how I know, I just do- I've dealt with my parents' death when they encountered that dragon, and it's got that similar vibe."

Albus waited patiently for Elphias's rant to stop. When his irritation finally subsided, Albus explained plainly, "I'm not participating, Elphias. I know you're worried, but it's not happening. You might as well warn Gaunt and Black about their competition. It is an interschool event after all."

Elphias visibly dimmed at his reassurance. "So you've already decided," he said, uttering a sigh. "I can't help being a little disappointed. On the one hand, I really hope that you would join the Tournament, for fame and glory, and most importantly, for Hogwarts. On the other, I just have this chilling feeling about that Durmstrang lad, and I really hope no situation would push you to face him in a contest." He paused, running his hand through his hair with an almost embarrassed expression. "Anyway, will you be joining Quidditch this year? The trials are in two weeks."

"I simply do not have a choice there. The Gryffindor team is rather lacking in good players since we've lost a Chaser and a Seeker to - well - graduation." Albus chuckled helplessly, "and the fifth years are concentrating on their O.W.L.s, which is understandable."

"You can recruit Aberforth," Elphias suggested. "I've seen him chasing after a runaway goat one time," he added with a laugh, "It was a comical sight. He's quite good on his legs, you know. How different can a Quaffle be from a goat?"

"My brother cannot hold himself upright on a broom even if he wanted to," Albus retorted, a trace of disdain seeping into his voice. Elphias instantly regretted bringing up Aberforth's name in Albus's presence. Thankfully, Albus's voice warmed almost as quickly, "But I'll find someone. Exchange students are allowed to join Quidditch, correct?"

"With the Head of House's approval, yes." Elphias frowned. "I certainly hope the name of the exchange student you have in mind does not begin with a 'g'."

"The Slytherins would recruit them anyhow unless we make a move sooner," Albus shrugged. Suddenly remembering that he was headed somewhere before Elphias caught up with him, he fished out his pocket watch and took a glimpse. "I should be going, Elphias. Professor Swoopstikes would be equally anxious if I don't turn up for Potions in the next five minutes."

"Oh, sorry! I almost forgot you have double the number of subjects that I have. Hurry then, missing three lessons in a row would definitely land you in the Headmaster's office," Elphias urged, pushing Albus on his way. As they were about to part, Elphias shouted behind him, "Let me know if you need help, okay? I may not be the brightest of our year but I do take my notes."

Albus turned and gave him a small, genuine smile, noting the proud grin on Elphias's face as he turned and disappeared up the staircase.

* * *

"For a moment, I thought you were going to be late for detention, Mr. Dumbledore." Minerva watched the doors open as the cuckoo clock on the wall chirped eight. He had arrived on the dot.

Albus strolled into the Detention Chamber and closed the door behind him with a wave. "I wouldn't dare, Professor. I had to make a detour to the Ravenclaw Tower, and was almost charmed by the choice of delectable sweets some generous house members have left on the Common Room table."

"It's good that you've been able to resist the temptation then," she commented, and he couldn't help but think there was a double meaning in her words, "Our session is purposely scheduled, hence I stress your punctuality." She stood from her desk and circled him in excruciatingly slow steps. "The house elves are going to retire early tonight. They have asked me to deliver their thanks, although most were less than pleased with the sudden arrangement."

"I see." Albus smiled. "To what do they owe me their gratitude?"

"They've been told that a Mr. Dumbledore is very willing to clean the Great Hall after dinner."

Albus's smile did not falter, in fact, it only seemed to broaden at her explanation. "I am, yes."

"Without a wand," she extended her hand, palm up, and waited for him to pull out his wand.

An exaggerated pout made way onto his face. "Really, Professor?"

"Yes," she insisted, and was pleased when he drew out his wand and placed it onto her palm. Yet she did not withdraw her hand. "Your other wand as well."

The pout on his face then seemed more genuine. He struggled for a second finding his hidden wand from beneath his robes, until he clucked his tongue with a muttered "found it", and gave it to her.

"And to whom does this belong?" She inspected the second wand from end to end.

"Elphias Doge of Gryffindor, Madam."

"Very well," she nodded. "I shall return this to Mr. Doge. When I come by the Great Hall at half-past eight, I expect that you have made progress with your task."

"The Muggle way, Professor?"

"Yes, experimentation is the best way to learn. Your Muggle Studies professor might even be impressed if you have personal experience to include in your upcoming essay."

* * *

Elphias Doge wore a distinct look of guilt when Minerva found him lingering in the corridors, not far from the Detention Chamber. She reprimanded him lightly for his knowing involvement. Eventually she decided that the boy was probably innocent, and was only made victim by the talented coercer Albus Dumbledore. Her trip to the Gryffindor Tower was cut short, so she had returned to the Great Hall at eight fifteen.

She was then torn between surprise and mild displeasure when she found the Great Hall in an absolutely pristine state.

She raised her gaze suspiciously to find Albus sitting smugly in the Headmaster's chair, like a king on his throne. The sight was almost nostalgic, but not quite owing to his youthful appearance. He was studying her intensely, his hands wrapped around the arms of the chair and his legs wide open, as he leaned back and sank into his chair. His student robes, however, clashed poorly with his posture and expression.

He stood as she neared the staff table with a frown. "Would this be satisfactory, Professor?"

"I don't recall allowing you to sit in the Headmaster's chair upon finishing your task."

"I apologize," he bowed, walking down from the stage slowly. "It is a different perspective seeing the Great Hall from up here, after all. A powerful place to be. Tempting, almost."

"Since when is being the Headmaster of Hogwarts a powerful position?" She responded dryly. "A school is a place for education, not a training ground for the army. If power is what you seek, please be on your way. The Auror Headquarters is in London, not Sutherland."

She put her hands on her hips disapprovingly as she came to a stop before him. It was amusing how unsuitable his younger self looked on stage as she imagined him standing before hundreds of students, blurting out strange, senseless one-liners that mystified her and the rest of the staff.

"Alas, it is the young who will become the driving force of society," he said, raising his arms and gesturing to the empty tables. "I am merely expressing my interest."

Minerva wrinkled her nose in disgust. Albus had warned her time and again that she would not like his ambitious, overconfident younger self, but dislike turned out to be a massive understatement. She was only comforted by the knowledge that somehow, between his youth and him becoming Headmaster, he had learned to draw a definitive line between education and propaganda. She reminded herself that he would see reason eventually, and that her job was to refrain from interfering, not to ensure that he walked the right path.

Changing the topic, she asked, "From whom did you borrow that extra wand?"

"Filius Flitwick, seventh year Ravenclaw." He pulled his outer robes open to reveal another wand, this one carefully chained to his waist.

She heaved a sigh, knowing he had outwitted her again. "Return it to Mr. Flitwick before he attempts any wandless magic tonight. Neither Professor von Rheticus nor I would appreciate seeing the Ravenclaw Tower erupting into flames." She surveyed the Great Hall, but fell short of criticism. "Detention is over. You may return to your dormitory."

"Understood, Professor." He leapt off the stage with the wand in hand. "Before I leave, may I show you something?"

The dubious look she gave him said enough. He chuckled and walked closer, "It's harmless, but I need you to close your eyes for a minute."

"Why do you think I'd comply?" She admitted she was curious, but if this was another one of his ill-timed pranks like he had done in their years of working together, she would rather not be the subject of the event. She almost had a heart attack one morning when she woke with purple hair.

Yet the way he looked at her then, almost begging with his eyes to allow him to do as he pleased, made her bend, however strong willed she was. "Because you know I wouldn't do anything that would make you unhappy," he said softly, and for a moment he sounded wholehearted in his sentiment.

She still sent him a glare, nonetheless, to show that he had not shown his trustworthiness over the past few days, but after a moment, she closed her eyes. She heard his footsteps as he walked away, whispering charms that were barely audible to where she stood, until his charms were so fluent and fast-spoken that she could not catch a word. She felt the familiar whoosh of his magic twirl around her body, lifting the fabric of her robes by an inch as it was picked up by the wind. The footsteps returned after a while, and she was almost done counting the seconds in her head, having reached a little less than a minute in her mind. He gripped her shoulders and turned her around.

"You can open your eyes now," he prompted gently, his hands falling away from her shoulders.

She almost forgot that they were standing in the Great Hall when she did. It was the starry night sky that met her eyes, then grassy lawns that seemed to stretch endlessly beyond her vision. She realized with a start that she recognized, if not the specific houses, the style of the scattered settlements dotting the landscape. Each house was lit up beautifully to carve the windows and wooden balustrades into existence. On her sides, the thick stone walls faded into transparency, revealing the silhouette of open, rolling moorlands to her left, and the foreboding waves of the Pentland Firth crashing into surrounding cliffs on her right. She stood, mesmerized, surrounded by the plains of Caithness.

Then she took a step back, alarmed, when the lawn beneath her feet started to light up in small patches. Leafy stems started growing from the illumined ponds, and she had hardly noticed when she had taken Albus's hand as he guided her across the lands. In quick succession, the low-growing vegetation had been replaced by blossoming flowers of every color, each glowing brightly beneath the charmed ceiling.

"I thought I'd make up for missing your lesson," Albus explained, waking her from her bewilderment. "I hope I've still passed the first assessment."

She hardly remembered that he was not the older Albus when she replied, for it was only the older him in her mind that was capable of such surprises. "Barely, but yes, you have."

She looked up again, studying the night sky, "You've even charmed the ceiling," she muttered quietly to herself. She could even make out the constellations of Orion and Pleiades, and several shooting stars marking the enveloping darkness with their vivid tails.

Albus was pleasantly confused that she should compliment the least laborious part of his endeavors. He could not have known that she had taken for granted the charmed ceiling in her youth during her Hogwarts years. But now she knew that the ceiling did not start out as it had later become, nor was it by Headmaster Dippet's instructions that she was welcomed by boundless starry skies upon her first feast. It was all her Professor Dumbledore.

They stopped in the middle of the aisle, her eyes still fixed on the scenery around them. "It's beautiful," she said eventually. Then she added with a small smile, "As wonderful as it is, this does not excuse your tardiness. I hope I would never see you late again for my lessons."

To her surprise, he picked her hand up and laid a gentle kiss on the back. "But of course, Professor. It will never happen again." He was momentarily captured by the blush that creeped onto her face.

They stayed, unmoving and without a word, enjoying the gentle breeze and the sounds of crashing waves that he had conjured. Eventually she gave his wand back to him and bid him goodnight, and reassured him that she would undo his spells later. Yet once he was gone, she found herself relaxing and laying down on the ground, enjoying the texture of the grass and mud beneath her.

In her decade as Headmistress, she no longer had a reason to visit Caithness. During the semester she spent her time at Hogwarts, and during the breaks she traveled, always busy with meetings and never finding time to settle. It was only when she had planned to retire was she pondering her return to her hometown, yet she was never really given the chance.

She closed her eyes and dreamed, allowing the sounds and sensations to numb her mind. She had missed those carefree times when she was younger. Her mother used to allow her to roam the open farmlands on her broom with her younger brothers when people were not watching. She had missed the small cottage house that Albus and she had shared, the garden where they had picnics occasionally, and the skylight he had transfigured on their ceiling so they could watch the skies while huddling on their bed.

She had missed spending time with him, but when she sat up again, the Albus she envisioned to pick her up from the grass was not the older Albus, whose greying beard flowed down his chest and whose eyes shone more of wisdom than childlike mischief. She saw in a moment of dizziness the younger Albus, extending his hand the same way and chuckling as she blushed. She steadied herself immediately and the fleeting vision melted away. Sighing, she took her wand out and transformed the hall back into its original state.

* * *

Albus was leaning against a staircase rail while observing the closed doors of the Great Hall. When his professor finally emerged, it was almost half an hour since he had left her. He was pleased to see her robes rumpled and a flower petal tangled in her hair. She looked as if she had been laying on the flower bed while he was gone. She reopened the doors once more to check that everything was in order. Nodding to herself when she was satisfied with the results, she proceeded up another staircase to her chambers.

He found himself grinning from ear to ear despite himself, knowing that he was the one who had put a smile on her face. Seeing that blush on her cheeks - not out of humiliation, frustration, or anger, but of delight and appreciation - had been extraordinarily rewarding. In that moment, his determination to uncover her secrets had vanished. Instead he found himself with a simpler, somewhat childish longing for the older woman.

He did not know yet what was manifesting at the back of his mind, but whatever it was, it was a heartwarming sensation. Rechaining Filius's wand on his waist, he started humming a tune as he walked back to the Gryffindor Tower. There was a definite spring in his steps as he imagined her laying in the grass with her eyes closed and a small smile playing at her lips.

* * *

_Thank you, _uma ramrup_! I'm so glad you don't think it's OOC - with this chapter you might though! I think I've gone too far with Albus's personality and am trying to take him down a notch. He's getting a bit too cocky. :/_

_Haha! I agree, _Loki_ \- If Albus is frustrating for me to write then it must be all the more stressful for Minerva to face him X( I really can't go anywhere with this story without Gellert, he's a great villain - though being a Gellert expert, you'll have to excuse me if he's not what you envision him to be ;)_


	6. Quidditch

Within a month of resuming her teaching position, Minerva had completely reverted back to her signature serene, uncrossable professor mode. True, she wore her hair down occasionally, and it did not go in as tight a twist even when she wore it up. She dared wearing brighter colored teaching robes - ironically, ones she used to comment as being distasteful whenever she visited Hogsmeade - and less often her duller emerald or tartan robes. Her colleagues and students' ignorance of her past gave her the freedom to present herself whichever way she wanted. There simply was no reason for her to be a stuck-up, rule-following Head Girl every hour of every day.

To her relief, Albus Dumbledore was not a particularly troublesome student when he tried. He arrived early to her lessons, and stayed late after them, always trying to catch her alone for a private chat. But as expected, he was generally diligent, and exceptionally gifted in his studies to boot. The more agreeable his attitude had become, the more endearing she found his behavior.

September flew by faster than she remembered. Quidditch season was fast-approaching, as the upcoming Triwizard Tournament in November had pushed the academic schedule forward. Minerva had lost her chance to review the Gryffindor Team's performance due to an unnecessarily lengthy staff meeting. She had never blamed her students for falling asleep in Professor Cuthbert Binns's lessons, for she had learned the pains of enduring his never-ending lectures firsthand in her youth. Nonetheless, the fresh experience of discussing school matters with him in the living flesh reminded her why him being a ghost was more entertaining than not. She had felt less guilty and more compelled to ignore his unhelpful opinions when he was a transparent, silver-white blur, and generally hovering over them rather than sitting face-to-face at the staff table.

Staying ahead of administrative tasks as Deputy Headmistress was not at all time-consuming compared to all the meetings Armando had invited her to attend. She had politely declined whenever she was allowed to, but interest rose as academia was quick to note the new appointment of Armando's likely successor in Great Britain's most prestigious wizarding school. Thankfully, skepticism died down as promptly as it had arisen when Minerva presented herself flawlessly before the officials. Her background was more touchy a subject than her skills, but she managed to avoid discussion as much as possible. Again, to her relief, the press decided that the appointment of Deputy Headmistress was much less newsworthy than that of Headmaster, and with that her appointment was sealed without much further ado. Where doubt remained, her crisp, austere front had easily doused it before questions developed into ill-formed theories and much unneeded gossip.

Perhaps owing to her busy schedule, Minerva had completely missed the news that the Gryffindor Quidditch Team was facing a new complication. Their Captain, seventh year Carol Fletcher, had contacted Scrofungulus in early October, which was a highly contagious and possibly fatal disease. After a painstaking diagnosis in the Hospital Wing, Carol was immediately admitted to an isolation ward in St. Mungo's. Minerva, being trapped in one of those long, boring, customary Ministry meetings with Armando, was completely oblivious to the incident. The new captain had obviously thought better than to owl her a notification of the change, for she was blind to all that was happening on the house team for nearly two weeks. Word had only reached her the night before the first match that captaincy was transferred to the next logical candidate. That being the only other seventh year on the team - Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

Having concluded a staff meeting early to secure a front seat in the viewing stands, Minerva was not amused when Albus requested her presence at the house tent a mere thirty minutes before the start of the game. She was almost desperate to avoid a seat neighboring the Headmaster, so she would not be subject to idle chatter during the game. At this pace, however, she would be the last of the staff members to secure a seat with a good view.

Albus was fully clad in gold-trimmed Quidditch robes of typical Gryffindor red when she walked in. His shoulder-length auburn hair was charmed shorter and slicked back, making it more manageable and less distracting in flight. Without the characteristic curtain of hair framing and shading his face, he looked sharper and more refreshed. He even somewhat resembled the sort of Muggle businessman featured on magazine covers.

"You better have a very good reason for summoning me here, Mr. Dumbledore. The game is about to start and I refuse to sit in the back row." Concurrently she heard distant applause and the beginning of orchestra performances in timely agreement with her warning.

"Of course, Professor. Please make yourself comfortable." He stood from the couch, and instantly she noticed that his two-seater was the only thing not of red, gold or natural timber in the space, but of dazzling bright purple. The man took an obsessive liking to what she considered a terribly striking color, as she had learned over the years under painfully mortifying circumstances.

He was inspecting a small vial when she approached him. He then held it out to her readily. "I've asked you to come so I could give you this."

"The least you can do is name the substance within." She responded warily, her eyebrow raised. She took it from him nonetheless. As she swirled the vial the residue dispersed into the liquid again, rendering the solution more visually unpleasant than before.

"That would be Polyjuice Potion. I added an extra bit of flavor to combat the original taste." He beamed, as though he had just offered her fresh strawberry juice.

"Lovely," she said dryly, returning the vial to him. "I'm relieved to see that you are catching up with your Potions assignment. Nonetheless your timing is terribly off."

He stared at her for a moment, making no attempt to take hold of the vial in her outstretched hand. Then he sat back down onto the couch and crossed his legs, his arm draped carelessly along the ridge. In his brilliant blue eyes was a mischievous glint that set off a particular alarm in Minerva's head, warning her that the young man was up to no good.

"Ah, but that is not intended for Professor Swoopstikes. I do give him full credit for brewing the pot and putting a rather ineffective locking charm on the cupboard." He mused aloud, with no remorse whatsoever in admitting to her that he had broken into another professor's cupboard and stolen said potion. It seemed perfectly natural to him and sounded perfectly natural from his intonation. "I did bring it specifically for you."

She rolled her eyes. She could form a question at every turn and it was quickly getting annoying. This trait of his had only worsened over the years as he took up the habit of countering her more direct questions by asking her back in paraphrased terms.

"Explain," she said, containing her irritation.

"Because you are participating, of course." He gleamed, his voice cheerful.

The incredulous look on her face lasted a few seconds before shifting back into an unamused expression. "Hilarious, Mr. Dumbledore. I'll see you on the pitch." She forced the vial back into his hand and turned to leave.

Albus sprang to the exit, shocking her still with his youthful agility. "You should reconsider the opportunity, Professor."

"Are you out of your mind?" She hissed, attempting to bypass him, but he was squarely in front of her still and blocking the small opening of the tent.

"You don't want your house to lose, do you?" He smiled.

Minerva willed herself not to lose her composure. It's Quidditch day, she reminded herself. Best day of the year. Happy event. She shut her eyes. When she next spoke, her voice was evidently calmer.

"As disappointed as I am to realize that our house is painfully devoid of talent, it is not something that I can help. Do excuse me, I have a seat to find."

"But it's not lacking talent," he protested. "Donald Bateson resigned from his position at the last minute."

She flipped through her mental library, arriving at the name and recalling the personality of the boy. Why, Donald Bateson was little better than young Peter Pettigrew. "Mr. Bateson has already proved his… lack of dedication time and again. Surely, as captain, you should have envisioned this situation happening? Yet you do not have a substitute standing by."

"I have you," he offered, "and you were a Gryffindor Seeker."

"And that sentence is phrased in the correct tense." She retorted stiffly.

"I wager you can still pull off a number of impressive stunts on your broom." He smiled pleasantly.

"If I haven't taught you children for as long as I have, then yes, I would have maintained my sanity and physical well-being for much longer. As I have, however, I'm uncertain whether I can so much as mount a broom." Her gaze shifted cautiously onto the vial, which he shook gently in his grip. "I certainly hope that you do not intend to force feed that disgusting potion down my throat."

He shook his head, feigning disappointment. "No, I would do no such thing. I'm afraid we Gryffindors are going to be in low spirits tonight."

"As you should be, if none of you are willing to participate despite cheering on from the safety of your seats." She moved to leave again, but he stood resolutely in the way. "I'm going to hex you if you don't move."

He ignored her warning. "Don't you miss being up in the air?" He asked instead.

"I miss the concussions and broken ribs, now out of the way."

He clucked his tongue and started again with a different tactic. "Professor, are you going to teach for long?"

She paused, not knowing where the question had come from.

"Perhaps," she said eventually, uncertain herself. She had had little conscious thought about a future in a world she hardly belonged in.

"This game may mean nothing to you, but I know for certain that this is my last chance to participate in Quidditch. It might even mean the last time that I get to have fun, for what it is defined as." He chuckled lightly, but it did sound ironic for she knew he spoke the truth. He did have other hobbies in his later years, but they were mostly sedentary, and rather like the typical pastimes of an old man. She had never seen him mount a broom, let alone ride one across a Quidditch pitch.

"Your point being?"

He flashed her a begging smile. "You wouldn't want me to retain this memory as my last Quidditch game, would you? A sour, humiliating defeat by the Slytherins, because of an unforeseen withdrawal on our team."

And the absence of preparation on your part, she countered silently.

Yet slowly and surely, she remembered her own Quidditch game against the Slytherins in her seventh year. The experience itself was beyond unpleasant, and it etched onto her an undying hatred for the opposing house that lasted longer than she would like to admit. Snape and his incessant bullying of her lion cubs, of course, fueled her determination for even longer. Those seemingly trivial events remained unforgotten over the years.

Looking into his eyes, she for once contemplated his proposal.

She had always had a soft spot for Albus, however ridiculous his ideas might be. With him around, she had fallen prey on the morning of every April Fools' Day, despite returning the favor every evening. Both Snape and Peeves had found this habit of hers extremely annoying to a point of discouraging. She could cleverly dodge their attempts at firing rotten tomatoes or levitating water buckets above her head, but she would always be oblivious to the Headmaster's blatantly obvious pranks. It was as if she was walking into them purposely for his entertainment. The implication that Snape's pranks were inferior to Albus's rendered him so defeated that he remained in the dungeons for four consecutive April Fools'. Snape did not reemerge until the year Minerva pretended to not see the slime at her door and slipped, allowing him to throw enough water balloons at her to mend his bruised ego.

She then admitted that the younger Albus's proposal was so ridiculous that she started consciously considering the possibility of her saving Gryffindor from their definite fate of defeat against the Slytherins. As he assumed, she did miss Quidditch. She had spent her years watching over Quidditch House Cups like parents training their children in a dozen extracurricular activities to fulfill their own yearning for the opportunity. So much so that while cheering along with Rolanda and reprimanding Lee Jordan for his positively biased commentaries, she wanted nothing more than to be riding her broom in the field, tossing the Quaffle at Angelina Johnson and aiding Harry Potter in seeking the Golden Snitch.

On top of that, playing alongside Albus Dumbledore sounded like a uniquely memorable way to spend an afternoon.

Albus saw her momentary hesitation and immediately added, "No one would know. The potion lasts for at least three hours, by which time we would have caught the Golden Snitch. That is, if we have your wholehearted cooperation."

"Please enlighten me as to why Mr. Grindelwald is not standing in my place right now, enduring your unending persuasion."

Grindelwald's name was the first that came to mind lately, whenever anyone spoke of Albus on campus grounds. They were simply sighted together too often. Even Elphias Doge had taken second place in Albus's friendships. Being as famous as Albus Dumbledore was in Hogwarts, his relationships were often publicly acknowledged. Rumor had it that there was a record tracked and updated by his unofficial fan club.

"He said, and I quote, 'If you poke that broom in my book one more time I will have your fire bird burnt to dust.' I don't think he quite understands the nature of a phoenix." Albus said expressionlessly, earning an amused twitch of the lips from Minerva.

"I presume his rejection has led to me becoming your next victim."

"You were always my preference and priority, Minerva. However, foreseeing your wrath upon this request was not the most encouraging notion." He plucked the cap from the vial and handed it to her.

"Yet here you are," she pointed out wryly.

"Yet here I am," he nodded his head eagerly.

"And if I refuse, as Mr. Grindelwald did?"

"Then we will lose, and I will have lost a most memorable event of my life to utmost humiliation."

"It would still be memorable," she pointed out.

"Not for good reasons." He shook his head solemnly.

"You can win a game without a Seeker," she contemplated aloud, "You just have to stay more than a hundred and fifty points ahead."

"And do you think that is going to happen?" He smiled, waiting for her reply.

"If you try hard enough, Mr. Dumbledore."

"Statistically it is impossible."

"Improbable, even in history," she corrected him. "I pointed out that there is a distinct possibility, but by no means it is easy."

"Make it easier for me then, Minerva."

"I am a teacher, Albus, and I am no longer eighteen."

"That is a lot of excuses coming from the Head of Gryffindor."

"I'm not making excuses," She countered defensively.

"It takes courage to impersonate another, courage that you evidently don't lack," he said meaningfully, the slightest hint of a threat coming into his voice. She blanched slightly.

She took the vial and swung it around twice, seeing the liquid whirl around behind the tinted glass. She could not make out the telltale strand, but she supposed the liquid was too thick. The almost opaque material of the vial was also making her identification difficult.

"Whose hair is in this?" She asked.

"Saundra McFarland." Seeing the blank faced expression from her, he added, "A third year Gryffindor. She has not been in school for a month now. Her parents work in the same industry as Elphias, so she has been exposed to Dragon Pox about a week before the term began. I heard she's still in treatment, and I was only told her story because Elphias is quite close to her family."

"Wouldn't it be odd if I show up as her in a Quidditch game?" She thought it would be an obvious issue.

"Not at all," he reassured her. "Saundra has always been apt at Quidditch, although she has had no intentions of joining the house team. Elphias can easily take care of the story. She's almost fully recovered now, save her appearance, so when she returns shortly she'll be an exact replica of, well, you - after you down this potion."

"You are a very troublesome lad, Mr. Dumbledore. Very troublesome," she emphasized again, "If I crack a bone today, it better be on your conscience."

Then she downed the liquid in one full gulp.

It burned against the walls of her throat, like strong Firewhiskey, but she had had much worse. It was a wonder she had never had a taste of Polyjuice throughout her entire life. She had seen it in the making, and seen other people transform by means of it, but to down the potion itself was a first experience. Alastor had commented more times than she could count that the potion was nasty. Perhaps his forewarning had spiked her worst expectations and made the process less difficult. Or perhaps Albus had been genuine when he said he had added some flavor to thin its taste.

Instantly she felt the burning sensation in her throat spread to her stomach, then to other parts of her body. She felt as if insects were crawling underneath her skin - there was a prickly, itchy sensation that had spread to her limbs, then her extremities. Her hair felt heavier, her bones lighter, and the aching sensation that came with age was pleasantly starting to wear away. She even felt the few visible wrinkles on her face smoothen, and her lips thickening by a fraction. Eventually the transformation ended, and she opened her eyes with slight tremor.

"How do I look?"

He was ogling her oddly, his eyes trained resolutely to her face. At last, he took a deep breath, and echoed blankly, "Like Saundra McFarland, cell for cell." His slightly agape expression did little to suppress her apprehension.

Instantly she spotted an old, broken mirror on one end of the tent. She made a gesture to walk towards it, but Albus's hand closed around her wrist and drew her back. "You don't want to see it," he shook his head solemnly, and she saw before she could react that he raised his wand and banished the mirror to Merlin knows where. "I assume you know the symptoms of Dragon Pox, Professor. Saundra has just recovered from high fever two days ago. The symptoms remain."

He released her wrist, and instinctively Minerva raised her hands midway to touch her face. A fleeting image of Elphias's scars crossed her mind. The itchy, tingling sensation from drinking the potion reminded her that it might not be the potion's aftereffects, but the building of fluid-filled blisters that she was experiencing. In that case, she would rather not see or touch the bumps.

"So I have-" She began frightfully, dreading his answer.

"Green skin, yes, but generally contained on the face," Albus nodded with a grimace, "Scarred, but as I said before, every bit like Saundra McFarland."

Her eyes searched on his face for any indication denoting the severity of her outbreak, but his disgust was quickly concealed behind a polite smile. Being more experienced, she was more curious but slightly disappointed to read his seemingly genuine interest in Saundra McFarland's appearance, despite her obviously disfigured face. Bitterness attacked her like a wave of childish teenage jealousy - could Saundra McFarland be his romantic interest? Perhaps he had wanted to play alongside her in his last Quidditch match, but her disease had rendered her unfit for the game. Hence Minerva was asked to play as Saundra's substitute. Literally, cell for cell, a biologically replicated sort of substitute.

Her thoughts evaporated when he took her hand gently and led her to the closet. "You can transfigure your robes, or you can have your choice of Gryffindor Quidditch uniforms here. I'll get you a broom."

She did not think it was possible, but he was blushing. Immediately he rushed out of the tent when he finished, without waiting for her response. Her heart sank quickly.

* * *

Albus was perhaps a bit preoccupied with his thoughts before he charged in, for he forgot to warn her, nor did he take a small glimpse to check the circumstances. He strolled straight into the tent with two broomsticks in hand, only to drop them with a loud clatter when he found Minerva half-naked. She was standing right where he had left her moments ago.

She too let out a surprised yelp upon acknowledging his presence, for immediately he felt a stone paperweight make contact with his forehead and he stumbled back in pain.

"Get! Out!"

He heard her infuriated scream, then saw her scramble to pick up her teaching robes to cover her naked breasts. He noticed within a fraction of a second that she was wearing dark blue knickers. Her bra was unclasped and spread across the table. Her wand was in the air, her arm in a gesture that looked like she was about to transform her bra into something more fitting for the occasion.

Another whoosh and he was sent flying backwards. He only registered that he was thrown out of the tent when the cloth of the entrance fell back into place in slow motion.

* * *

"Sorry for barging in, Professor," Albus muttered when Minerva finally invited him back into the tent.

"I apologize for throwing you out that way, but you ought to have warned me when you were going to come in. An 'excuse me' would have sufficed," she said with slight defensiveness.

"Pardon me, I didn't think you were going to change without a locking charm." He huffed, still sounding flustered from the incident.

"Well, Mr. Dumbledore, last I checked we had five minutes before the game begins," she fumed. "You don't suppose I could run back to my office, change, make some sandwiches, and then meet you at the pitch?"

"That's not what I said. All you needed was a locking charm."

"On what?" She cried in exasperation, gesturing at the entrance, "It's not a door, just two flaps of cloth!"

"Well, you teach Transfiguration!" He too raised his voice. "Surely you could have used a variation of a locking charm. You could even have transfigured the flaps of cloth into massive walls of concrete."

She paused in the argument, obviously rethinking that possibility. Her shoulders dropped marginally in defeat. "The Imperturbable Charm, yes, I should have thought of that," she admitted quietly. "The circumstances may have drawn the common sense out of me."

He shook his head. "It's almost time. Shall we head out to the pitch?" He picked up the two broomsticks from the ground and offered his arm with a small grin.

She clung to his arm with a new sense of dread. The reality of the situation had only started to dawn on her as she heard the crowd's applause growing louder and louder. She only realized how out of place she felt when they approached the group of Gryffindor players, each holding their broom in their hand. Albus handed one to her and nodded to each of his team mates.

A redhead that looked remarkably like Arthur Weasley approached Albus. Minerva could recognize that vivid chunk of Weasley hair any day.

"Thank Merlin, Al. We thought you ditched us! I didn't think you had the heart to do it, my friend, but you were away for a whole half an hour." Septimus Weasley patted Albus's shoulder in relief, then he leaned in to whisper in Albus's ear. "Team spirits are getting a bit low with Donald pulling out last minute. I tried to get Geoff ready but he said he's awaiting your instructions. And where on earth is his broom?"

"It's taken care of, Septimus," Albus smiled reassuringly. "I've managed to find a talented substitute but she was without a broom at the moment, so I asked Geoffrey for his."

The other boys were already engaging in heated chatter.

"... still can't believe Bateson did it. I sometimes think he was planning it up to the last minute."

"... he's done for, I'm telling you. No one escapes the wrath of our school's Quidditch fans. We screw up this round, he's-" he made a cut-throat gesture.

"... wait till Carol comes back. Can you imagine the look on her face? She's going to snap his broom!"

"... and his legs."

"... things are going to get wild tonight in the Common Room. Get your wands ready, boys, I've been waiting to test every hex I've learned on the bastard."

"You will not be hexing anyone tonight," Minerva reprimanded immediately, her mind addressing the situation by habit. She faltered, however, upon realizing her statement was out of character for who she was supposed to be.

"And this is-?" The Gryffindors glanced her over, and then turned to Albus for explanation.

"As I told you, I was coming back with a substitute, and here I am," Albus beamed triumphantly. "Meet Saundra McFarland, everyone. She has been unwell and has taken five weeks off the term, but she is here to join us as Seeker for this afternoon's game. A very competent one trained specifically for the position, I might add."

"A substitute for Donald?" Septimus spluttered in disbelief. "That's wonderful!"

The enthusiasm that greeted Minerva was unexpected. The Gryffindors each shook her hand with fervor and she found herself returning a heartfelt smile. Albus patted her back encouragingly.

Upon waiting for the Headmaster's announcement, Septimus whispered to Minerva, "Psst."

When he got her attention, he smiled, "I'm Septimus."

"Pleasure," she responded back in an uninterested tone.

"Saundra, yes?"

She nodded back, her hand gripping the broom tighter.

Without noticing her agitation, Septimus asked curiously, "So what's the deal with your five week leave?"

Minerva shrugged. "Dragon Pox."

"Really? How bad was it?"

"Pretty bad," she made a gesture to inspect her arms, but there was not one scar recognizable from her skin. Then she remembered Albus's warning. It was all on her face.

"Well, you don't look it, that's for sure." He looked her over, and she even closed in an inch to let him inspect her face - her curiosity as good as his. But even as he squinted dramatically, he seemed dissatisfied with what he saw.

"I'm pockmarked everywhere," Minerva frowned, emphasizing her face with a wave of her hand.

Septimus shook his head. "I don't know what you were told, but you must have had one hell of a recovery to look like this after Dragon Pox. Elphias wasn't so lucky."

She opened her mouth to protest but Albus cut in from behind. "Something the matter?"

"N-no." She instantly felt like a student being caught chatting during a lesson, and by her Professor Dumbledore, no less.

His concerned voice lowered into a whisper. "Loosen up, Professor. You might even enjoy this." She was suddenly aware of his breath on the back of her ear.

Nevertheless, his presence disappeared when they both heard the Headmaster's voice in the loudspeaker. It was followed by Professor Kettleburn's cheerier one, announcing the start of the 1898 Interhouse Quidditch Cup between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

She dimly registered Albus stepping forward, his uniform swiping left and right as he came to a halt at the front of the clothed entrance and mounted his broom. She did the same, following closely behind him as Septimus stayed on her left. They queued in pairs, each pair far enough apart to allow room for take off. The cheer of the crowds was deafening.

A little boy standing on the side was waving at them enthusiastically. Septimus waved back with a big grin. Remembering that only team members were allowed in this area of the stadium, Minerva caught Septimus's attention and asked, "Who's that?"

"What?!" Came Septimus's response weighed down by the roar of the crowd.

"Who's he?!" She pointed, now at the back of the boy who was bouncing away giddly, presumably back towards the viewing stands.

"Geoff Drummond! Second year!" He shouted.

"What's he doing here?"

"Backup!"

"What?!" She shouted back disbelievingly. "I thought you don't have backup!"

"Who says?!"

"Your captain, of course!" She strained to hear Septimus at an arm's length, so she doubted Albus could hear anything from where he stood.

"Al trained Geoff, what are you talking about?!"

"What?!"

"He's better as a Keeper but Al trained him as a Seeker!"

"What about Bateson?!"

"I don't think Al trusted Bateson, and he's been damn right!"

Minerva instantly felt her temper bubbling up to get the better of her. Albus never said they did not have backup - she assumed it when he asked for her help. He did say Bateson pulled out last minute, but that was all.

"Then what am I doing here?!" She dropped her broom and was about to storm off, but Septimus already had a deathly clutch on the back of her collar.

"Woah woah woah wait! Where do you think you're going?!"

"To get Drummond!" She struggled, but he had no idea who she was. He was uncommonly determined to keep her rooted at where she was.

"Are you crazy?!"

"He's your backup!"

"No! You're the Seeker now!" He yelled, dragging her back. The other team members standing behind them were already looking to see what the commotion was about, but Albus was too busy listening for the Headmaster's cue to notice the racket.

"Let me go!" She screamed.

"We're two seconds from taking off!" His grip had only gotten tighter. "For Merlin's sake, woman, mount your broom!"

Suddenly she heard the whistle blowing. There was a gust of wind and Albus had taken off, right past the curtains and into the pitch.

With her frozen to the spot, Septimus picked up her broom and hurriedly shoved it into her. "Go!" He then launched himself into the air, past the curtains and out of her sight.

Minerva followed in his wake more by instinct than by will, kicking off from the ground and feeling the blast of wind on her face as the curtains shielded them no more. She was then immersed in the crowd's applause, and she looked around to see that the Gryffindor Team was circling the pitch in order, with Albus leading, Septimus at her front, and four others on her tail.

The Slytherins joined them in sequence, each dangerously close to their opponent. She realized they were targeted individually. Her opponent - the Slytherin Seeker, was a blond-haired girl wearing the sneer of the Cheshire Cat.

Minerva almost bumped into Septimus when they all stopped mid-air, and only then did she remember that they were each supposed to hover in their respective starting positions. Albus stole worried glimpses at her occasionally to check that she was not slipping off her broom. Septimus wore a look of horror in realizing they had just missed each other by several inches. Miss Cheshire Cat was busy smirking at her mistake. Minerva quickly returned to her post, scanning the pitch as she did. Everything felt vaguely déjà vu. This was going to be a long afternoon.

On the count of three, Silvanus Kettleburn blew the whistle. The game was afoot.

* * *

The Quaffle and Bludgers shot up and went separate directions. Septimus zoomed past one Bludger and captured the Quaffle. He then hurled it at Albus, who was the closest to the Slytherin's goal post. Albus swung his broom and batted the Quaffle at the loop, as cheers rose with his expertly aim. The Slytherin Keeper was one second too late to block his hit.

"Gryffindor scores! Ten-to-zero!"

Somewhere afar the busy-sounding Quidditch commentaries were slipping through Minerva's ears.

"And the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle! A good pass to Angus Beckham - Bludger knocks Garnett to the side - she's missed Beckham's pass - now Gryffindor's in possession again! Gryffindor Captain Albus Dumbledore takes the ball - dives under Black - ouch! That's a nasty hit! Black's recovered from collision - speeds past Weasley - dodges the Bludger-"

Minerva squinted to catch sight of the Golden Snitch. Miss Cheshire Cat was as clueless as she was, as far as she could tell. Both girls were screening the stands and between for the tiny spark of gold, but neither was successful. Beneath them, the match was quickly getting violent, with the Black siblings - Arcturus and Belvina - pairing up against Septimus, and Albus dodging the Bludger with Angus Beckham on his tail. She watched worriedly as Albus nearly rammed into the Hufflepuff viewing stand, the Bludger following in close succession and breaking several members of the timber frame.

Albus then looked up at Minerva, an almost ecstatic expression plastered on his face. He was half pointing and half waving, and she knew immediately that he had spotted the Golden Snitch. His instructions, however, did not go unnoticed by Miss Cheshire Cat.

Both girls dived at the same time, Minerva slightly edging over with skill, but the Slytherin Seeker was closer to Albus's side to begin with. They arrived at about the same time - with Albus speeding out of the way. Yet the Golden Snitch had zoomed up in height, and was fast reaching the teaching staff's viewing stand. Minerva's eyes followed the fluttering wings like she was trained to all those years ago, trying to guess the Golden Snitch's movements. It spun in the air and took a dive, with Miss Cheshire Cat following it like a possessed zombie, but Minerva started towards it in a straight line as they both reached the viewing stand.

Kettleburn was the first to duck, followed by Merrythought, who knocked Armando's drink over in her haste. Swoopstikes had a rack of potions on his lap, so when Armando leaped in horror at the boiling liquid seeping through his robes, he knocked the rack over and the potions erupted into colorful smoke, lowering visibility to the negative. The staff were entangled in an unsightly mess as two brooms swept the air horizontally across their faces. The Golden Snitch was dancing in front of the Seekers but staying just out of reach. From the opposite tower, the more sensible Ravenclaws were groaning at the unfolding disaster. Septimus exclaimed, "Wicked!" and Albus watched on in amusement.

The smoke cleared, and Minerva was again at a loss of the Golden Snitch's whereabouts. She looked around just in time to dodge the Bludger hurled at her.

"No you don't!" Hamish Bonner, their Beater, batted the Bludger back to its source. Minerva yelled her thanks as she zoomed off. While she and Miss Cheshire Cat were destroying the staff's viewing stand, the Gryffindor Keeper was knocked off his broom and had fallen unconscious. Their team was quickly at a disadvantage, with the Slytherins being able to shoot the Quaffle at will. Albus called for time-out and Geoffrey Drummond went to take the Keeper's position. Apparently the boy was trained for every position there was. Minerva felt less guilty for taking over his original position as it did not turn out to be a complete waste of talent.

"Watch out!" She then watched in horror as another Gryffindor - this time their other Beater - had gone down, but he was determinedly pulling a struggling Belvina Black down with him.

The Bludger then changed course and was heading towards Albus, who was the closest to the fallen Beaters. He ducked, but only barely, so when another Bludger sandwiched him against the Hufflepuff viewing stand, he charged into the hollow core of the tower, leaving a large hole on the cloth by which he had entered the stand. Anxiety bubbled within her when he had disappeared from sight.

Suddenly Minerva was brought back to her own game as she saw Miss Cheshire Cat speeding towards her as though she was going to land a physical attack. Minerva dodged, but quickly saw that the Golden Snitch was not far behind her. Miss Cheshire Cat tried to push her off her broom but Minerva was too experienced for the Slytherin's basic tactics. They were engaged in a tiring chase again, this time diving to the grounds as the Snitch dragged them down.

As they sped across the ground, each lying low on their brooms to reduce the friction working against them, Minerva caught sight of Albus's shadow across the pitch. A Bludger was still chasing after him, but the second one had lost track of him and was attacking another player. They were steadily moving closer to one another - the two Seekers in a straight dash and him following the curve of the stadium within its structural frame. She saw the possibility of collision where he was bound to reemerge, and pulled up regardless, allowing the Slytherin Seeker to stay after the Golden Snitch.

As Minerva had predicted, Miss Cheshire Cat's face contorted in absolute panic when Albus sped out from behind the cloth. He managed to redirect his broom, thus brushing past the Slytherin narrowly, but she was not so lucky. They were both flying at full speed, he towards the open and she towards the tower. She sprang away from the Bludger that followed, but promptly lost control of her broom. With his unintended distraction, she smashed unceremoniously into the cloth-wrapped tower, dragging the Slytherin-themed banner down with her as she fell.

Minerva watched in fascination at the ordeal, and almost wanted to hug Albus for his timely reappearance. He was drifting back up to a height level with the viewing stands in confusion. What a way to go, Minerva thought, watching a few Slytherins pull the giant cloth away to reveal the unconscious Seeker.

She looked around. Slytherin had three down, but Gryffindor now had four down. Septimus, Albus, and herself were the only ones remaining in flight. Some time in her chase, their substituted Keeper had also fallen and was rendered unfit to continue. The Gryffindors were only ten points ahead of the Slytherins, and things were quickly going to change if they remained with fewer Chasers and no Keeper.

It was then that she noticed the Golden Snitch again, this time only bothering her for she was the remaining Seeker on the grounds. She charged upwards, flying past Albus and Septimus, and dodging the Bludger with a zigzag movement that left it spinning towards Arcturus Black. The Golden Snitch seemed to have decided that it had reached high enough in the air, for suddenly it dived towards another direction.

Minerva plunged down from the sky following the Snitch's movement. It was headed towards the Gryffindor goal posts. She would have to dodge if they got entangled there. It was also likely that if she lost its tail, she would have to start tracking it again without a clue. She remembered that she only had twenty minutes left before the potion wore off.

"If I die today, your arse will stay haunted forever," she thought, stealing a fleeting glance at Albus. He was flying the surrounds trying to avoid a rampant Bludger. Arcturus Black must have beaten the Bludger that she had sent his way towards the Gryffindor Captain.

Minerva steadied her broom as much as she could, allowing it to fly straight towards the Snitch and follow the parabola of gravity, while adjusting her knees and then her feet on the thin stick. She had seen Harry Potter pull this stunt before, and successfully to boot. True, he had been closer to the ground, and a good deal younger, but a McGonagall could always do better - or, a McGonagall should. She heard the collective gasp of the crowd and a few shrieks shouting for her to stop, but stopping was the last thing on her mind.

The Snitch was flying steadily above her, occasionally twisting left and right, but never too far away. She had one chance before they meet the goal posts. She watched the Snitch move to her left in the air, and having learned its movements, knew that it was going to be on her right in a second. Without hesitation, she took a deep breath and kicked both feet off the broom, taking a deathly leap thirty feet above ground.

If she had looked, she would have seen Albus rounding the goal posts just in time, a Bludger following closely behind his back. She might have even seen the combined look of surprise, fear, and dread on his face. But as it happened, she was too focused on grasping the Golden Snitch, that she did not see anything beyond her target. She did, however, hear his truncated shout. "What on earth-"

She felt cold metal in her hand, and immediately she closed her palm. Yet that second was all it took for an image to catch her eye. It was the small distorted reflection on the surface of the Snitch, the half an inch wide surface that was still visible in the gap between her fingers and the base of her palm as she wrapped her hand around it. Despite the soft sheen of vapor it had accumulated, she saw and recognized the person depicted as she would any day.

For it was not a green-skinned, scarred monster that greeted her. She had long raven hair, still trapped in a bun that was loosening because of her reckless flying. Her skin was more taut without a single line on her forehead, her cheeks a healthy shade of rose from exercise, her lips plumper, and her eyes were still unmistakably emerald.

Minerva stared, in complete mortification, at the reflection of her teenage self.

Realization hit her like a bucket of cold water. Youth potion. Her head seemed to spin. Not Polyjuice.

She had no time to digest the new information. She felt her luck running out as gravity pulled her hard and fast towards her broom, which was still speeding closely beneath her. She almost had to shut her eyes for fear that she missed it, but as it happened, she felt her hand fall onto the tip of the stick. Then her hips crashed down painfully, adding extra weight onto the broom and changing its direction to an almost vertical dip. Her center of gravity shifted dangerously to the back, and before she knew it, she was starting the first of many backward somersaults as she plummeted down.

"... what a leap! Now that's something we don't see every day! Gryffindor Seeker has caught the Snitch - worth a grand sum of a hundred and fifty points! Gryffindor wins two hundred and forty to eighty! But it looks like she has lost control of her broom - their Captain is flying right below her - this is not going to be pretty-"

In the wake of the commentary, Minerva spotted Albus. He had presumably come to her aid, as he looked like he was trying to get under her, perhaps even to catch her from a moment ago. As she had changed course, however, she was instead falling straight into him. Even if he dodged - and she doubted he could then, seeing the panic in his eyes - they were bound to collide. She could not imagine a good end for him if he were to cushion her fall at that speed.

Minerva muttered a spell to steady her spinning. It slowed her considerably, but not entirely. She pulled her head up at the same time, willing herself to remember all the little tricks Rolanda had taught her to get out of these sticky situations. The wind shifted and changed directions, then her magic lifted her back up at an angle, allowing that one second for Albus to speed out of her way. Yet as all of her attention was focused on the safety of the man a few feet below her, she forgot what she was trying to avoid by leaping into the air and catching the Golden Snitch so urgently.

The cold, hard surface of the loop hit her elbow first, which she had instinctively raised to shield herself from impact, then her knee rammed straight into metal. Immediately she felt bones fracturing all the way from her left shoulder, arm, leg, down to her foot and toes. She crashed and bounced off the column, her broom splitting into two. She felt the chilling brush of death as she tasted blood in her mouth, then found herself colliding once more with the column as she slid against it down to the ground.

She did hear, before falling to her likely death, two voices above the anxious roar of the crowds. One was Albus's panicked shout, the other was Filius's urgent command. Both were administering the same wandless incantation.

"Arresto Momentum!"

She felt her fall halt momentarily, before she landed roughly onto the ground. She laid a crumpled mess, the left side of her body twisted in strange directions, and her right side suffering the most from her actual collision with the lawn. She felt nothing but pain. In her right hand she still held the Golden Snitch.

Albus was beside her in two seconds, landing in a heap not much different than her own. He dropped his broom the moment he landed and scrambled to her, clutching her hand. He was whispering her name - her real name - and his hand was trembling.

She mouthed something but it was inaudible. Leaning close, he suddenly felt her pulling on his ear, and despite her obviously weakened strength, it still garnered a surprised yelp from him. "I will turn you into a Flobberworm you barmy old codger!" She hissed angrily in slurry, raspy gasps. Albus's jaw dropped. Then the hand on his ear fell to her side and her head rolled back to face the sky, where her neck was not strained facing him. She only heard him resume calling her name twice more - quite anxiously, she noted, after what he obviously presumed to be a much mistaken outburst - before feeling intense dizziness and lack of strength attack her body and mind.

Then her world went black.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thanks _uma ramrup_ for fixing my error in the previous chapter *blushes*! Phew, thank goodness it isn't left till Chapter 108 or something before I spot that. The replace all button does wonders._

_And yes_, Professor Herby, _playing with the reversed old-young / teacher-student dynamic in this fic is loads of fun! X)_


	7. The Search

"_How are you feeling?"_

_Minerva looked up from her book. She instantly scrambled upright, a blush spreading on her cheeks. "Professor Dumbledore!" Then she flinched in pain. Her back must still be healing._

"_You don't have to sit up," he said quickly. Much to her embarrassment, he then helped her lean against her pillow. It was propped against the headboard, supporting her weight while granting her comfort._

"_I've brought you something to make your stay more endurable." He beamed, gesturing to the goods that had magically appeared on her bedside table. She quickly recognized the spines of 'Practical Guide to Animagus Transformation', 'The Dos and Don'ts of Advanced Human Transfiguration', and 'Removing the Tail When You're Not in Your Furry Suit: Quick Fixes to Animagus Transformation Mistakes'. A tin of ginger newts in Honeydukes wrappings was sitting on top of the books._

"_Thank you," she smiled gratefully. "I was wondering how I could pass the time. Watching first years with burnt hair and tinted skin come and go isn't especially entertaining."_

"_Oh, I believe you." Wandlessly he conjured a fluffy armchair for himself. "Hence I've brought you some reading material lest you decide to… express your boredom in more creative ways."_

_Minerva sighed. "I've only done it once and now everyone thinks the Hospital Wing is going to be blown up whenever I'm around."_

"_They've taken precautions, yes." Albus chuckled lightly. "If I'm not wrong, there is a powerful protective charm surrounding your bed. I daresay it is completely fireproof and airtight, so anything you attempt will be retained in this space. Filius charmed it himself, I believe."_

_Her eyes widened in surprise. "Professor Flitwick? He's involved in this?"_

_There was a mischievous glint in Albus's eyes. "Why yes, last I heard, your Charms Master is trying exceptionally hard to win the matron's favors. Saving the Hospital Wing from a much expected catastrophe should make her quite pleased."_

"_Is my reputation that bad?" Minerva giggled._

"_Well, you are the most renowned seventh year in this school, and many times the topic of discussion in the staff room." He winked at her._

_Out of nowhere, a small bag of sherbet lemons appeared on his lap. He fished one out eagerly and popped it into his mouth._

_She was still squinting at him suspiciously when he looked up. "I thought Riddle would be more popular."_

"_Between the Headmaster and Professor Merrythought, perhaps." He clucked his tongue, "Between me and Filius, and the rest of the staff, not so much." He added with a merry laugh, "A high achiever with a flair for troublemaking is more interesting a topic than one who pretends to be deathly rule-abiding."_

_The twitch at the corner of her lips told him that she took his comment in good humor, for he knew she prided herself in her mischievous accomplishments. He admitted that her pranks were usually quite tasteful, and often provided much entertainment. He, who the public expected to literally represent the dictionary definition of appropriateness, was less privy to such opportunities of recklessness._

"_What do you teachers talk about then?" She asked, curious._

"_Your extraordinary feat on the Quidditch pitch, for example."_

"_That's still Riddle." Minerva said bitterly, her shoulders dropping in the slightest disappointment. "He shoved me off my broom."_

"_Yes, and we have seen it happen." He said matter-of-factly. Her expression shifted from disappointment to distress, anger, then to silent acceptance. "Nonetheless some of us see but not perceive, and others perceive but deny. Filius, Herbert, and I have all made our argument that Slytherin's win should be revoked, but Armando was adamant that Mr. Riddle was not in the wrong. Regretfully, the Headmaster has the final say in this matter."_

_"I expected as much, but thank you for making that argument." She huffed sourly. "Headmaster Dippet is convinced that Riddle can do no wrong. Certainly you've seen the absurdity in Hagrid's expulsion."_

"_I've seen it and fought it, but my efforts were futile." He sighed. A smile quickly replaced his deepening frown. "But I did not come to give you a headache or a reason to mull over depressing matters, Miss McGonagall. I came to reassure you that despite the fact Slytherin won the competition in name, most of us believe you would have caught the Golden Snitch had Tom not made that underhanded move." He paused, and then added, "And I've come because I rather miss having my star student in my class."_

"_I miss yo- your lessons too. I hope I won't be too behind when I return." She mentally slapped herself, regretting how intimate her confession would have sounded had she said "I miss you too". For that to her meant something else entirely. An emotion that he would not understand, and even if he did, he would not approve or accept. For how could a man as powerful, intelligent, wise, and famed as Albus Dumbledore ever return her feelings? She felt childish, silly even. She was, she thought bitterly. She was only eighteen. What could a child like her know about love?_

"_I can tell you most certainly that that notion is unfounded," he smiled warmly. "You have been two years ahead of everyone else since you've attended Hogwarts, and I've never had a brighter student. I do hope we can resume your Animagus training as soon as possible, as one's intuitive grasp of the transformation tends to wane easily over time."_

_She nodded gingerly, knowing herself that she was beginning to forget what little sensation she had managed to conjure in her previous attempts. Yet the images in her mind were less of her training and more of the chess games, hot chocolate, and conversations that followed in the privacy of his chambers. How she wished he felt the same, caring beyond the progress of her Animagus transformation. How she wished he shared even the tiniest fraction of her longing._

_The silence that stretched between them was interrupted by a timely intrusion._

"_Min-ner-va!" Rolanda's characteristic singsong voice was followed by the appearance of Poppy and herself, who bounced out from behind the bed screen._

_"How are you still stuck in this helluva-" Rolanda paused abruptly when Poppy elbowed her, gesturing to Albus. "Professor Dumbledore!" She exclaimed._

"_We should leave-" Poppy said immediately, flashing a knowing glance at Minerva's direction._

"_Yeah well, we'll give you some time alone," Rolanda caught on quickly, ignoring the death glare from Minerva. She grinned, gesturing wildly at the blandness of the Hospital Wing. "Need a vase of flowers? Valentine's decorations? A powerful aphrodisiac-" Poppy slapped her hand onto Rolanda's mouth and dragged her away._

"_We'll come back later then."_

_The curtains fell back into place. Minerva could still hear Rolanda's cry, presumably as she traced the outline of Poppy's handprint on her mouth. "Ouch!"_

"_Subtlety, Ro! Discretion!" Minerva could picture Poppy throwing her arms in the air in frustration, "Flowers, yes! Pink heart-shaped garlands, fine! But aphrodisiacs, of all things to suggest! Are you mad?"_

"_The tension's so obvious it's frustrating." Rolanda said defensively. "I'm just tryna help."_

_There came inaudible mumbling on Poppy's part, then in a much calmer voice she added, "Indeed… Lovebirds they are. But let me do the suggestions next time." Poppy's agreement faded into the distance._

_Minerva rolled her eyes, "They're so immature." She felt less mortification than she had anticipated. Evidently her eccentric professor saw only humor in the otherwise awkward situation. She was too guarded to feel heartbroken over something so trivial._

_Sure enough, when she finally mustered enough courage to study his reaction, his eyes were gleaming with amusement. "They meant well," he said._

"_I'm sorry you had to endure that, Professor. They're very much mistaken."_

_There was a momentary pause on his part, and for one fleeting second she thought she saw the shade of his brilliant blue eyes darken. Then he replied lightheartedly, "Really? Despite my hopes that it might be true?"_

_Minerva felt her heart skip a beat. "I beg your pardon?"_

_The moment was gone. She had not caught it fast enough._

_Albus shook his head and smiled. It was the smile of a friend, a mentor. "I must have lost my mind. Fancy a chess game?"_

_As he conjured a chessboard between them, she felt as though their time had come to an end, just as the moment had. The pieces settled into place, but her hand swiped right through them. She tried grabbing his hand, but it faded into nothing. She blinked once. Then without a sound, she woke._

* * *

A massive bundle of curtains came straightly into Minerva's view. That vision was followed by lightless wall lamps and moonlit bed screens within a five feet radius. Anything beyond was draped in darkness, so dark that half of her bedside table was engulfed in unreadable blackness. Everything in line with the tall window behind her was tinted in a harmonious shade of blue.

She inched towards her side, trying to catch a glimpse of other occupants. It proved a bad idea when she propped herself up on her left forearm, only to realize that she had not yet fully recovered.

"Ow!" She gasped, falling back. She groaned again as the back of her head hit the headboard. In sequence, her head landed onto her uncomfortably stiff pillow with a dull thud. How she hated being in the Hospital Wing.

The bed screen parted as she sat herself upright again, rubbing her head to ease the tenderness. The mediwitch strolled in with a small smile. The petite woman reminded Minerva of a younger, more sprightly Poppy in appearance, yet a slightly sterner Rolanda in demeanor.

"Good evening, love. How are you feeling?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "I hope you've recovered some degree of function in your arm and that painful outburst was not you trying to break it all over again." Her words were cluttered in a rushed string of syllables that was difficult to follow.

Minerva felt her headache resume. "Madam Wright," She addressed her tentatively, buying herself a second to get a grasp of the situation. "How is it that…" She wanted to ask about her transformation, but as she gripped her own hands reflexively, she was touching taut, unwrinkled skin. She was still… young.

"You're in the Hospital Wing, of course. You've been out for three whole days," Madam Wright answered briskly, spoken as though Minerva had not uttered a single word. "I've wanted to send you straight to St. Mungo's, if it weren't for Professor Marie's request. You were quite badly injured. That was a very bad stunt you pulled, and very reckless of you." She shook her head disapprovingly.

On any other day Minerva would have had a ready-formed retort, but at that moment her mind was as blank as a fresh piece of parchment. "Professor Marie's request?" She repeated uncertainly, her fingers clenching the hem of her quilt in unvoiced confusion.

"Aye, your captain owled me a note signed by the good professor. A request that you be treated in Hogwarts for undisclosed reasons. Ridiculous, I say. What can a Transfiguration teacher know about the highly complex realm of healing magic?" Thankfully, she continued without catching Minerva's scowl. "I've mended your bones but try not to move so much. I will do one last check-up on you in the morning. You should be good to go tomorrow."

"Thank you, Madam. May I-" A muffled scream caught Minerva unawares, and she trailed off, her question forgotten.

Madam Wright clamped the folder in her hands shut immediately. Her nostrils flared in annoyance. "It's Skele-Gro," she explained. "Some people obviously can't take the least bit of pain. The girl has a pillow to scream into but I ought to go before she wakes the entire wing." She muttered something about reckless students attempting human transfiguration when they ought to be testing their handiwork on hedgehogs. Then she cursed the Transfiguration Mistress for not supervising those childish attempts, and thus inevitably adding to her workload.

"Should I light the lamps for you?" Madam Wright asked, pointing her wand at the lamps on either side of Minerva's bed.

"Y-" Minerva paused in slight displeasure as the mediwitch lit the space without acknowledging her answer yet again. Did the woman ever listen? "Yes, please."

Nevertheless, her displeasure melted away as the warm yellowish glow chased away the coldness of the ward. The mediwitch turned to leave, but stopped short before the opening. "Oh, do tell that lad to get some sleep on a proper bed. He's been sitting there forever."

Minerva looked around, her eyes quickly adjusting to the sudden brightness. Her heart skipped a beat. Albus was dozing off in a chair, his chin supported dangerously on his hand. His elbow was an inch from slipping off the edge of her bedside table. The bed screen was almost draped upon his shoulders for the way he sank against it, as if he was deliberately hiding from her view. Judging by his posture, he had not been asleep for long. He would not have the luxury to stay asleep for long either.

When the mediwitch was gone, Minerva found herself lost in the sight of Albus's sleeping form. His hair framed most parts of his face as his entire upper body tipped forward. For once her attention was not fixed on his intense gaze, but his slightly agape mouth and the long bony fingers that his chin rested upon. His youthfulness had become less and less foreign in her gradual acceptance. Instead she had developed new appreciation for his energetic and frolicsome behavior. Those traits of his were not lost with age, but tamed, and Merlin bless whoever tamed the brightest and boldest of Hogwarts.

She chuckled lightly as he frowned in his sleep, seeming genuinely sorry. Perhaps he did feel remorseful that his prank had gone horribly wrong. That look had passed his features fleetingly over the years whenever his April Fools' pranks went awry. Which they did, time and again. The man had learned nothing after all those occasions. Thankfully for him, while playfulness at twenty would be labelled as naughty, that at one hundred and twenty would simply be eccentricity.

As her initial amusement faded, she vaguely remembered waking up to the same scene when she was hit by four Stunners. Her Albus, then worn looking and ridden with guilt, had settled into slumber in a secluded corner of her room. She remembered counting the minutes until his elbow slipped, much like what she was doing now.

Five minutes past, Albus lost his balance as his elbow finally lost support and his chin crashed down onto her bedside table. He looked up in shock, then rubbed his chin with a look of pain.

"They've invented beds for a reason," Minerva drawled with obvious amusement.

"How long have you been awake?" His voice was heavy with sleep. He rubbed his eyes, while reorienting himself and straightening his back.

"Not long, just enough to see you break your chin."

Again he rubbed his chin gingerly, tasting a trace of blood in his mouth. Then he reached for his pocket, roaming its insides as his eyebrows screwed in concentration. "Drink this," he finally offered, producing a vial from his pocket.

"More of your Youth Potion?"

The surprise that passed his features briefly, though unnoticeable to most others, was not something she missed. He smiled, still holding out the vial, "It's one way to stay young."

"Most people would prefer the Elixir of Life." She accepted the potion nonetheless. The vial he used now was more transparent, and the substance within was not of murky mud-like texture, but much clearer and visually pleasant. It looked considerably less like the Polyjuice she had seen Alastor carry around.

"When did you find out?" He asked casually. His gaze mirrored his careless intonation, but the fact that he was rubbing his thumb a little too urgently said otherwise about his outward unconcern.

"When I caught the Golden Snitch," she said calmly. "I saw my own reflection. Needless to say I was horrified."

"Ah, extraordinary timing," he mused aloud.

Minerva rolled her eyes and downed the liquid. The heat traveled across her body, filling her limbs and eventually her extremities. Although this time it was to maintain her current form rather than initiating a transformation.

"The matron said I was out for three days," she began uncertainly. "How am I maintaining… this?"

Albus clucked his tongue and pulled out a chunk of plastic tubes from his robes. They looked vaguely like medical equipment. "It's a Muggle equipment called a feeding tube," he explained, before settling into an uncomfortable squirm. "I used a bit of magic to get it… in, but I don't think you'll want to know how it goes."

It spiked her interest. "How do you know of such things?"

"My mother was a Muggle-born witch," he admitted. He paused, but she looked at him with an expectant expression. He cursed himself for his next words, for he had almost never mentioned his family in anyone else's presence. "I've seen her use it on my sister. She was traumatized at a very young age and fell unconscious for a while. She couldn't swallow. So my mother tended to her with this."

Albus felt oddly at ease in disclosing his secrets to her. Many things he did not know were secrets, until he counted how scarcely he brought them up in any conversation. His family was a topic that he would rather end a dialogue over than to discuss in public.

"Your sister… how is she?" Minerva asked despite her better judgement. She almost bit her tongue for asking, but she was curious. She wanted to know her point on the timeline - whether Ariana was alive… or dead - despite the predetermined nature of those events.

Albus shook his head solemnly. "She is… well, as well as she can be. My brother takes care of her."

"Ah, Aberforth."

He didn't seem surprised. The Dumbledore brothers' relationship was public knowledge. But neither was he eager to jump onto the topic.

"I have to say, force feeding you this potion was not the most pleasant experience. I'm glad you're awake." Albus changed the topic and reverted to a lighthearted voice. He banished the vial in her hand and smiled.

"Thank you," she said.

"Are you still angry at me?"

Her pale skin reddened in response. She looked away, somewhat embarrassed and annoyed altogether. Yet he knew anger was not her predominant emotion then. "Somewhat, do I look angry?"

A sound between an uncontrollable snort of laughter and his signature chuckle of platonic amusement escaped him. "You threatened to turn me into a Flobberworm. Then you called me a barmy old codger."

Minerva halted and stared at him curiously. Did she say that? She supposed she did. The threat was composed in her vocabulary. Only she, Rolanda, and the house elves would call Albus Dumbledore a barmy old codger. Only she, being the Transfiguration Mistress, would threaten to turn him into a Flobberworm. Anyone else would have consulted a lengthy array of swear words. He was studying her expression, but his own was visibly clueless. She smiled, deliberating her response carefully.

"You did remind me of someone. And that threat is well placed considering what level of a prank you've pulled on me."

He clasped his hands together and pulled away, seemingly satisfied with her answer. "It was a good idea until you decided to jump off your broom," he pointed out.

"Why did you feed me Youth Potion instead of Polyjuice?" She asked suddenly.

That question had been lingering in her mind ever since she uncovered his prank. In fact, she had an inkling that her subconscious mind knew something was amiss long before downing the potion. There were visible clues, like the semi-opaque vial he offered, his hasty approach immediately before the game, him hurriedly banishing the mirror, and talking her into the transformation with such fervor. Perhaps, like many April Fools', she had willingly walked into his traps to entertain. More so, to feed her own yearning for adventure. Neither of them had anticipated such serious repercussions.

"I was curious." Albus admitted, shrugging carelessly. Again, the slight tremble of his lips betrayed his nervousness. He was not as remorseless as he portrayed himself to be.

"Ah," she nodded grimly. "Curiosity damn near killed the cat."

In a forcibly high-spirited voice, he asked, "Did you enjoy it?"

Minerva stifled any display of mirthfulness, though silently she revelled in her newfound ability to read his body language despite his often contradictory speech. Either he was loosening up in her presence, or he was generally less apt at maintaining his pretense when he was younger. Nonetheless, she saved him from much unneeded embarrassment by feigning ignorance.

"Quidditch?" She asked, and he gestured the affirmative. "Yes, more than I would like to admit."

"I'm glad," he said quickly. Her agreement appeared to be his salvation. He almost let out the sigh of relief he was holding.

A grimace graced her features. Heedlessly she touched her wounds, tracing the scars where they remained. "But I would rather not do it all over again. Once is enough."

He laughed, running his hand through his hair as if her statement was both overwhelming and accusing, but entertaining nonetheless. "I'm not letting you get on a Quidditch pitch again, ever," he swore, "To be honest, I'm traumatized myself. I can't imagine myself riding a broom with that memory of you plummeting down in my mind."

"You were in the way," she wrinkled her nose in remembrance of the event. She could have gone down with thirty backward somersaults, instead of ramming into a metal goal post.

"I was, deliberately so," he chuckled in slight embarrassment. "I was trying to catch you."

"Good intentions often yield bad results."

Without missing a beat, he smiled, "As always."

* * *

They finished two rounds of chess in the next few hours - their customary pastime during her two months of teaching, whenever he caught her alone.

Albus was less experienced yet quick-witted and level-headed, but Minerva's skills remained unmatched. After all, for too many years the same man had honed her skills, giving her the ability to see through most of his tricks. Most of them. Minerva won both rounds, but her win was not at all smooth. No one had challenged her quite enough in the past decade - not even Albus's portrait. For despite all the personal training he had obtained from his namesake, the portrait was merely a shadow of her beloved.

In a feat of self-deception, she added two extra wins to the long-running tally between them. Those numbers had remained unchanged for over ten years.

The sun was rising just as Minerva's Knight knocked down Albus's King, crushing it into tiny crumbs in the process. Albus gulped at the brutal display. Upon vanishing the chessboard with a defeated sigh, he looked around curiously. "The matron should be coming soon. She needs to check that you are well."

It suddenly occurred to Minerva that their secret might not be as safe as they willed it to be. "The matron…" Her voice rose slightly in panic, "She has my medical records."

Albus was characteristically nonchalant. "I'm sure."

Minerva frowned. "Wouldn't one realize that McFarland and Marie are the same person? She has been tending to me for three days. Surely she can't have been that daft." Wizarding health records were so unnecessarily comprehensive, she thought. Besides, if Madam Wright was indeed that oblivious, Minerva would have a hard time trusting her professional qualifications.

"No, she suspects it every time." Albus smiled, disregarding the look of surprise as her eyes widened and she backed involuntarily against the headboard.

"What?" She paled.

"Just in time," Albus whispered, seeing the matron approach them. "Watch me."

"Good morning, Miss McFarland." Madam Wright's eyes traveled quickly to Albus, who had a charming smile plastered on his face. "I see this young man is still here, but no matter. I need to run a quick diagnosis on you to determine the progress of your healing, so just stay still and let the wand do its job." She waved her wand in the air and started counting off her analysis. A quill wrote feverishly on levitated parchment. She muttered, "Body temperature... Normal… Healing at moderate pace… Hm… Bones are mending on schedule…"

Minerva watched from the corner of her eye that Albus's hand was inching towards his pocket. Quietly he pulled out his wand.

The matron took the levitated parchment in hand and started ticking off the list. When she was done, she nodded at the results in satisfaction. "Nothing out of the ordinary, love. Your healing is going quite well." She then frowned, flipping the parchment over and back again as she inspected the details. "I swear I've seen these records before. Do you have a sister here? I can't precisely remember where, but I do remember patients' records…"

"Madam?" Albus prompted politely.

"Hm…" Waking from her contemplation, she looked up at the seemingly harmless auburn-haired teenager. "Yes?"

"Confundo," he said quietly.

The spell hit the matron immediately, rendering her dazed and dizzy. For one split second, Minerva almost wanted to hold the woman before she collapsed. Then Madam Wright regained her balance and looked around, first at the ward, then at Minerva, then Albus. "Did I-?"

"Yes, she's well." Albus said with faint dismissiveness. "Thank you for checking on her, Madam. Have a good day."

The matron parted the bed screen and walked out, still looking around with a dazed expression. The quill and parchment followed her promptly in midair.

"You Confunded her!" Minerva hissed in disbelief.

"Why, yes, I did." Albus replied matter-of-factly. "It is better than Obliviating her, agreed?"

Minerva rolled her eyes. Casting such spells defied her morals. Yet there were many things Albus did in his past that she had disagreed with, only to learn that they were the best solution to often unavoidable situations. Changing the topic, she demanded, "Tell me about Saundra McFarland."

"What about her?" There was a trace of self-assurance in his voice that she did not like hearing.

"How is it that they don't notice I'm a different person?"

"Ah," He droned, cocking his head to one side, as if her question was truly enlightening despite how obvious her query was to her. "Because I made her up."

"You what?"

"Saundra McFarland, according to my story, is a Beauxbatons exchange student who was granted special permission by my Head of House to join my team for Quidditch." He gestured to her briefly, her being his honorary Head of House. "Saundra has arrived early for the Quidditch matches but will, because of medical reasons, not participate in the upcoming Tournament. Elphias and I are spreading the rumors, of course. Rest assured that our trustworthiness, in popular opinion, is quite high. Hence you can come and go as you wish."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore-" she warned, impatience and annoyance seeping into her voice all at once.

He flashed her an innocent smile. "Yes?"

"You lied to me!" She pointed at him accusingly. In her wrath her accusation sounded stupid to her own ears. Her mind acknowledged not only "you lied to me" but "you lied to me… again!"

He feigned a second of bewilderment before reverting back to his infuriating slyness. "Evidently."

"Ugh," she groaned, her face falling onto her palms as she willed the image of his charming, confident grin away. "How is it that you grow up to become-" She stopped muttering abruptly. Then slowly she shook her head. "Never mind… you're unbelievable."

* * *

Albus was humming merrily and levitating four plates of his favorite breakfast when he returned to the Hospital Wing at five past eight. Two of which were filled to the brim by an assortment of desserts. He had taken generous servings from the breakfast table as he wanted to evaluate her likes and dislikes.

Yet when he arrived at her bed, Minerva's face was contorted in an odd mixture of fascination and envy. It quickly shifted into a grateful smile as he sat down next to her. His eyes traveled to the opposite end of the room, wanting to know what had drawn such a reaction from her.

A Seventh Year was sleeping soundly in the opposite bed across the corridor. In her arms was a baby, clinging to his mother with his short, chubby arms.

Without hinting that he saw her expression from before, he levitated the dishes before her in a straight line. His attempt was interrupted by a shrill cry.

"Oh dear, for Merlin's sake, children, do use a table!" Madam Wright came about again, waving her wand hysterically. She conjured a small table before Minerva, with legs attached stably on her bedside. Then she glared at Albus. "Can you imagine the pain that I go through cleaning after your crumbs? Can you? And they say you're the best Transfiguration student Hogwarts has ever seen, Mr. Dumbledore! Somehow conjuring a table has never crossed your mind, has it?"

Albus muttered his apology, growing red-faced at the matron's scolding. His eyes trailed fleetingly back to the sleeping forms of the mother and son despite himself, much to Madam Wright's dismay.

"An unmarried mother, at the tender age of seventeen." She exclaimed disdainfully. "Children these days are unbelievable."

She eyed Minerva meaningfully. "Fair warning to you, young lady. You don't want to end up like her. So please for the love of Merlin use a contraceptive charm."

Albus stifled the laughter in his throat. Minerva looked as though she was going to retort the mediwitch, but thought better of it.

Seeing that neither student had any intention of giving her a response, Madam Wright sighed. "I'll come again to check on you in the afternoon, Miss McFarland. If there are no new complications - and hopefully there will not be any lest you engage in some unnecessarily dangerous activity - you will be welcome to go. Mr. Dumbledore, you should go back to your lessons."

"You heard her," Minerva glared at Albus once the matron was gone.

"I will, soon. I can afford to miss a few lessons." He said offhandedly, while reaching for a cinnamon roll waffle topped with cream cheese icing. "You looked like you were going to say something when she gave you her advice."

She shook her head. "She's about as conservative as my grandparents."

"Why, I thought you'd agree with her, Professor."

Her frown deepened as she skimmed the contents of his choice of breakfast with ill-masked disgust. Two plates full of sugary dessert for breakfast was simply unacceptable. Her eyes finally settled on the standard fried egg on toast. While she fished it onto a spare dish, she replied absently, "I can list at least a dozen things that are stronger than something as superficial as a marriage vow."

"Indeed, though I'd like to hear what you have in mind." He prompted curiously.

Minerva shrugged. "A binding charm, for example."

"A binding charm, you say?" He repeated with slight surprise, urging her to continue. Ancient protective charms were not on his list of things that were stronger than a marriage vow.

"It binds two souls together." She paused, her hesitation apparent. Though she was facing his direction, there was an unsettling, faraway look in her eyes. "In a life-threatening situation, his magic becomes mine to use, and mine for him. The charm belongs in the same family as sacrificial protection, but it is weaker and with its limitations." She chuckled when his eyebrow rose in question. "Yes, I was bound to a man before I knew of it. A spell for life. I agree, it is ridiculous." Yet the evidently affectionate smile lingering on her face had shown none of her incredulity.

Albus fell silent for a moment. "Are you still bound to him, even now?" He asked eventually, his voice thickened by a strange cadence that hinted of jealousy. Thankfully, she seemed too immersed in her memories to notice.

"No," she sighed, "He is gone now, body and soul. Magic dissipates when the caster is dead."

"You wish you weren't freed from the bind?" He asked, his eyes downcast and no longer meeting hers.

Minerva stilled completely, her hand suspended in midair. Slowly she lowered her fork, as if his question had ruined her appetite. "I was devastated when I felt the spell lift," she admitted quietly.

"But-?" He prompted knowingly.

Minerva shook her head sadly and smiled. "Well, it also means he has moved on… to a better world."

He nodded slowly. "True, and very wise."

"The matron was wrong about another thing…" Minerva murmured. She chuckled to herself, but it sounded bitter even to her own ears, "I envy the young mother, more than I can say. I'd trade places with her in a heartbeat."

Albus's mouth was full, but his expression conveyed his question.

Impulsively she replied, as though she had waited too long for someone to listen, "I've never had children. Always wanted them, but never had one." Her momentary outburst was followed by her own stunned silence. She paused uncertainly and he waited patiently for her to continue. Then, as if she had finally made up her mind, she heaved a sigh and continued. "A stunning spell left me with a miscarriage and I was unable to conceive again."

Instantly his eyes darted to her chest in realization, and without knowing when or how, she knew he had glimpsed the Stunner scars on her older self. Yet now it was all an unblemished span of porcelain. "No… those occurred much later in my life."

"...I'm sorry to hear that." He debated asking when it had happened, or what exactly had happened, but her expression told him that their discussion was over.

"It was so long ago... and in a way I have raised many more children than I was blessed to have." Her last sentence was an inaudible whisper. Then forcing her emotions away, she reminded him, "You should go when you're done, Mr. Dumbledore. Professor Merrythought will miss having her star student in her class."

* * *

Minutes after escaping the Defence Against the Dark Art classroom, Albus made his way to the seventh floor of the castle and into the left corridor. Gellert was absent again, but Professor Merrythought seemed sufficiently entertained by her dear Slytherins to question his whereabouts. Albus walked by the same spot thrice before reiterating his demand to the wall. The door should appear then. The other occupant had requested that only Albus and himself would be allowed into the room he specified.

"You're spending an awfully long time away," came a voice from deep within the Room of Requirement as Albus entered.

"There are matters more important than our search," Albus replied without much forethought.

The lights surrounding Gellert brightened as the Room followed his slight change of mood. He looked up from his map - a meticulously plotted, vividly shaded art piece detailed with notes. Then he raised his eyebrows challengingly. "Oh?" He responded, his quill no longer moving across the page.

Albus shook his head, knowing how Gellert despised his other priorities. "I was occupied." He dumped his bag onto a nearby table, noticing the neatly stacked books detailing dark magic that Gellert had somehow acquired. There was a whimpering hedgehog pinned to the table that looked to be under constant torture. The hedgehog could have been one of Minerva's missing supplies. Albus made no comment on the peculiar objects of the room. Instead he looked back at the blond-haired man. "How are you? You weren't at Professor Merrythought's lesson. I was worried."

"Unamused and getting increasingly impatient." Gellert rounded the corner and appeared before him, standing almost as tall as Albus in his feat of intimidation. "Is it that McFarland girl?"

Albus did not answer.

"Or should I say Marie?"

Astonishment washed over the auburn-haired man. Immediately he demanded, "How did you-"

Gellert snorted. "I'm not blind, you know. Black hair, green eyes, white skin, thin face and body... It doesn't take me long to put two and two together."

Yet Albus knew it could not have been that easy. No one around them had realized anything yet. He could tell if they did. Simply because no one had been suspecting it to begin with. It was not every day that a professor transformed into a student for fun. "You were eavesdropping."

Gellert made a face of disgust. "No, I wouldn't stoop so low. Let's just say we had similar intentions in roaming Swoopstikes's cupboard."

"... what have you been up to?" Albus asked cautiously.

"Nothing extraordinary. Just keeping flasks up my sleeve in case I need them."

"And on the grander scale?"

"Tracking the Elder Wand, of course."

Albus sighed. Of course. Gellert had been asking for his involvement since September. There was nothing more pressing in Gellert's mind. The Elder Wand. His ultimate companion. His means to conquer, to rule, to acquire an army, and to start a revolution. "Anything I can help?"

"Why, I was waiting for you to ask, Dumbledore. Took you so long I thought you've forgotten our objective," Gellert said in mock appreciation. "Perhaps you ought not spend so much time in the Hospital Wing tending to our young Professor."

"Gellert-" Albus warned.

"Getting all defensive now?" Gellert mocked. "I would advise you not to fall in love with her, but I think it's too late for my advice to sink in."

Albus remained silent. From where Gellert stood, he could not accurately make out Albus's expression, but he was not interested enough to step out again for the sole purpose of mocking him. Gellert cleared his throat and announced, "I am moderately interested in a clue… bearing the name of Mykew Gregorovitch."

"The wandmaker?" Albus sounded genuinely curious.

"Yes." Gellert smirked. He brandished his wand and ran his finger along its length absently, immersed in a momentary illusion that he held the most powerful wand ever made. "Until we confirm that he is truly in possession of the Elder Wand, I do not wish to get a reputation or to give a forewarning."

"I assume you have already concocted a strategy."

"Simple, really. We should blend in… best with equally interested students who are keen to cause a racket. All we need is a distraction. The rest can be done by a handful of protective charms." Gellert drawled. "The trip to Hogsmeade this weekend, Dumbledore."

"But Gregorovitch's British branch is in London."

Gellert snorted at Albus pointing out the obvious. "That's where you come in. Tell Marie to change our destination to Carkitt Market."

"I can't do that." Albus frowned.

"I think you can. After all," Gellert smirked. "You two do have an extraordinary relationship."

* * *

Research and planning aided them in finding Gregorovitch's storeroom without unforeseen complications. They were up in two minutes. Gellert sealed the abutting corridors, whereas Albus locked the door and placed a silencing charm.

The room was enormous, compared to the misleading front. Though the ceiling was not charmed any taller, the ends seemed to stretch on forever. The wands were also wrapped in materials that diminished their qualities. It was no easy matter to tell which wand was which when one was not Mykew Gregorovitch himself. They had no choice but to unwrap every case to reveal the wand inside. Defeated, but challenged, the boys set to work, toppling the racks over as the wands fell in a loud clatter.

"Not this column." Gellert commented, his eyes scanning the objects scattered on the ground. "Next."

Albus nodded in agreement. He waved his wand and the next rack fell over. This time the rack fell slower, and a few wands remained in their cases despite his charm. When the third rack fell over, the delay and his charm's ineffectiveness became more noticeable.

"Losing your touch, Dumbledore?" Gellert asked dryly.

"Hm," Albus started inspecting the cases that remained unopened. "It seems that the better wands are resisting my charms. They can tell I'm not their rightful owner."

"You seem to find the matter more interesting than not." Gellert said, obviously not understanding his partner's amusement in this situation.

"Why yes, what better way to distinguish good wands from the average?"

"Except we're not searching for good wands, we're searching for the best." Gellert pointed his wand to an unopened case sitting nearer to his side. To his annoyance, it did not open. He frowned, levitating the case to himself. When he removed the top, he could sense that the wand was a notch more powerful than the ones that were readily scattered. But it was not the one he wanted. "Even levitation is getting difficult. They mean for us to open them by hand, one by one. We have no time."

"We don't know its length or material, do we?"

"No, not for certain," The scowl on Gellert's face deepened in irritation. He muttered, "You said its core could be thestral tail hair."

"Yes, but it gives us no visible clues. A detached thestral tail hair does not neigh."

"Neither does hair attached to a horse bum, if you ask me," Gellert grumbled.

Albus chuckled lightly. He was indeed taking the situation in with significantly more amusement than Gellert. After all, he had no real use for the Elder Wand. "A Summoning Charm, perhaps?"

"Don't be daft," Gellert snapped.

"Accio Elder Wand," Albus whispered. Nothing came forth.

"I would be doing the same thing in my Common Room if that worked," Gellert snorted.

Albus clucked his tongue, "It was worth a try."

"The wand of invincibility, Dumbledore. You cannot overcome it with simple magic."

"A Summoning Charm can be most useful at times," Albus pointed out.

Gellert had already crouched down to open another case. "I'm not having this conversation."

"What clues are you following then?"

"Instinct," came Gellert's disinterested reply.

"Marvelous."

Gellert rolled his eyes. The auburn-haired man was quickly getting on his nerves. "Don't pretend you can't sense artifacts encompassing strong magic. Just shut up and keep searching."

They toppled another twenty racks without exchanging a word, while scrambling down to open the cases that remained closed. Some needed an unlocking charm, others resisted their levitation. The effort was much more tedious than what they had previously expected. Nevertheless, the protective measures Gregorovitch had adopted gave them hope that the wandmaker was indeed in possession of the Elder Wand as he claimed to be.

Without noting exactly how many minutes had passed, Albus said, "Our classmates aren't going to keep him out for long. They aren't that interested in wands."

Gellert let out a grunt. "Bless their disinterest, they will never possess the best of them."

It was then that Albus thought he heard something. He had charmed the corridors to amplify any sound that came about, but even then he had only heard very soft footsteps. It could be a small animal. Gellert made no indication that he had heard anything.

"Did you ward the corridors?" Albus asked cautiously. He did not mean to express distrust in his partner, after all, he knew Gellert was bound to take it the wrong way.

"More times than I can count." Gellert's response was reasonably gruff.

Maybe it was his own imagination.

They continued searching in silence. Eventually they came to the first rack that would not topple, despite Albus's best efforts. They started levitating themselves instead, uncovering the wands one by one and throwing them onto the ground when they were finished inspecting.

At some point, Albus broke the silence. "We've agreed, yes?" His hands did not stop working.

"Agreed on what-?" Gellert turned, and saw the unusually grim expression on Albus's face. "Yes," he grunted, "Find me the Elder Wand, and I'll find you the Resurrection Stone."

"Good."

Albus hurled the last wand on his side to the ground and levitated himself back down. He was about to head onto the next rack when a familiar voice interrupted them from behind.

"Looking for something?"

They both turned immediately, Albus's eyes widening in surprise and Gellert's narrowing into slits. Minerva was standing not far behind them. The effects of Albus's Youth Potion were no more. She was again the stern, formidable professor, donning a pointed hat and emerald teaching robes. She stood, arms crossed, waiting for an answer. The door remained closed but somehow she had managed to sneak in.

"...Professor," Albus finally uttered.

Gellert jumped off the rack, landing on the floor gracefully, and rose to his full height. "Marie." He addressed her with audible hostility.

"It's Professor Marie to both of you." She said dryly. "Should I call in the Magical Law Enforcement Squad? It would appear that you two are involved in a case of theft."

Gellert raised his wand without hesitation. "Obliviat-"

"Expelliarmus." At her command, his wand shot out of his hand, landing on top of the mountain of wands they had uncovered. Albus stood frozen as he watched the scene unfold.

Minerva maintained her composure for as long as the event had played out, but with one look at Albus, she paused. The hesitation that gripped her quickly evolved into a wave of perplexity. What was she doing? Why was she interfering? This was how history had played out - the boys were supposed to be searching for the Deathly Hallows. Yes, she was a teacher. She might be a dutiful one who, upon catching her students in the wrong, would step up to correct them and state their punishments. But ultimately, there was too much more at stake. It was not her place to interfere.

Outwardly, she stayed unforgiving. "You have committed a crime that guarantees expulsion." She paused thoughtfully. Albus blanched and Gellert's face changed several colors. The humiliation must weigh hard on young men of their brilliance and power, who thought themselves unbeatable. She continued quietly, "But I will be lenient this time, only because you have yet to leave this store in possession of that wand. Your attempts are bad enough. Two full weeks of detention for both of you. There is no chance that Gryffindor will be winning the House Cup this year, thanks to you, Mr. Dumbledore. As for you, Mr. Grindelwald, I will speak to Durmstrang's Headmaster in regards to your behavior." She would have written a letter to their parents, as was customary, but her mind clicked with a hint of pity that both boys were orphaned.

She disappeared from the storeroom before either boy could form a coherent response. Silently, Albus picked up Gellert's wand and handed it back to him. He snatched it with a growl. "I've had it with her!"

"She's a teacher." Albus said calmly. "She's doing her job."

Gellert grumbled something about hexing the woman into oblivion.

"Don't be rash," Albus warned absently. He started levitating the wands back into their respective case, then onto the racks. They were not resistant when they recognized that they were being returned to their rightful place. This task was much less taxing than their search.

"Hmph," Gellert huffed. He fell into silence, and stayed unmoving as Albus tidied the racks.

Albus glanced back in concern. Gellert was still standing idly by, seemingly deep in thought. "Are you all right?"

"You heard what she said, Dumbledore?"

Albus looked dumbfounded. "What?"

"That wand," Gellert repeated. "She said 'that wand'."

"It must have been a coincidence."

"You've heard it then!" Gellert hissed accusingly as Albus turned away again. "You've noticed."

"We were searching. It was plain enough to see."

"No, she knows. I don't know why, I don't know how- And I will not be pleased to think you have anything to do with her having an idea, but she knows."

"She couldn't have, Gellert."

Gellert started pacing back and forth, irritation and humiliation flooding all his rationality. This was not the first time she had crossed him, despite it being the most significant time yet. "She needs to be removed."

"She's not interfering." Albus protested in a louder voice.

"You say she's not?" Gellert said angrily. "Pray tell why you are levitating the wands back onto the racks instead of pulling them out. And please, Dumbledore, do enlighten me on your definition of interference, for I cannot understand your blatantly misused vocabulary."

"If she truly wanted to stop us, she wouldn't have warned us. One message to the Ministry of Magic and we'd be on our way to court."

Gellert's steps were quickly accelerating into exasperated stomps. "Who says she hasn't already alerted the Aurors? Who says she doesn't already have someone on our tail, someone reporting back to the Ministry? Which wizard doesn't want to get his hands on the Elder Wand?"

"It is but a fairy tale to everyone else. The Ministry does not care for some children looking for a plaything."

Nonetheless, Albus could understand Gellert's misapprehension. In his unquenched thirst for power, Gellert was starting to thrust his own desires, determination, and awareness onto others, seeing threat and competition in the most illogical of places. Albus was certain that most of his alleged threats were disbelievers of The Tale of the Three Brothers.

"But we both know it's real. It's somewhere out there, and I'd be a lot closer to finding it if it weren't for her."

"Her intrusion might have cut our search short today, but it doesn't mean we can't try again tomorrow."

"Not just this time, Dumbledore. All that time you have been spending on her, wasted! Imagine what we could have accomplished! Who tracked down the location of the Elder Wand, Dumbledore? Who outlined potential candidates for alliance? The places for training, the resources for practice, who did them all? The maps, the research-" Gellert's speech was laced with vehement fury. Then as if he had reached a peak of outrage, his voice turned dispassionate again. "This search would have ended weeks ago had you been contributing as I have."

Albus shook his head with finality. He tried to reason. "I don't want to argue with you, Gellert. You know I am as determined to find the Hallows as you are. But this search... It has been weighing unhealthily on you. I care for you and this change… this madness… is unsettling."

"I need you to aid me. When all this is over, you can flee and be with whomever you wish. Until then, I need your intelligence, your power. I need dedication." Gellert stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "When our plan is brought to fruition, I'll be as sane as sane can be, and you can stop fussing over whatever morals you have in mind."

He started packing the wands back into the racks in silence. Beside him, Albus was equally lost in contemplation. They finished their job and sneaked back downstairs. Gregorovitch was engrossed in counting his galleons as the boys slipped past with a disillusionment charm.

* * *

Minerva was hiding in a small carriageway when the boys emerged from the store. Both uttered the counter spell to remove their invisible cloak. They remained unnoticed by Gregorovitch up to the end.

A few moments ago, Minerva had been stalling Gregorovitch downstairs, buying time for the boys to tidy up their mess. When she felt their disillusioned presence nearing, she quickly excused herself and hid before either of them caught her lurking around. She caught them red-handed, then she saved them from discovery. Such a hopeless walking contradiction she was.

When Albus first asked her to arrange a trip to Carkitt Market, she knew they were onto Gregorovitch. What surprised her most was how soon the boys were onto the right cue. Nonetheless, the Elder Wand was not in London, but in Berlin.

On the day, she transformed into a cat and followed the group into the shop. Albus and Gellert sneaked up the staircase, unnoticed by Gregorovitch, who was busy bragging to the other students about his latest collection. Minerva stalled him twice by leaping in his way when he was going to obtain a particularly boast-worthy wand from his storerooms. Eventually the first group of customers left and Gregorovitch forgot about the wand he so wanted to obtain. She saw her chance when he went to fetch a cup of coffee. Quickly she climbed up the staircase and darted into the corridors.

Even without transforming back into a human, she could sense that the corridors were heavily warded. The boys did not ward the staircase in case Gregorovitch wanted to visit the washroom, but anywhere near the storeroom was not somewhere he would visit regularly in an hour. At least that was what they assumed - she snorted, knowing she had saved them twice from an untimely discovery. She took some time undoing the wards without harming herself. They were by no means ubiquitous, but they were very powerful. When she was certain that the corridors were open, she dashed in in her tabby form to the end of the hall. Gellert's wards were imperfect but powerful, whereas Albus's locking and silencing charms on the door were less injurious, but equally meticulous to solve. She managed eventually, for she had far too much experience not to.

"Looking for something?" She said then, upon entering the room. It was more of a mess than she expected. Mountains of wands were discarded on the floor. Even then, they were less than a quarter through.

Gellert's attempt to Obliviate her was instantly obvious. He might not be ready to kill, but she knew he had no hesitations in wiping out memories. She disarmed him readily. But when her eyes shifted to Albus, she remembered why she was not just a professor catching her students in the act of crime. She was more than that - she did not happen upon them, and it was not coincidence or wisdom that led her to them. It was knowledge - knowledge of the future. Knowledge that anyone of their time should not be privy to. Knowledge that precious and unique should not be taken advantage of lightly.

Minerva slowly slumped against the wall, until she sat on the muddy ground, unmoving, her robes drenched in a murky puddle of rainwater. Her agreement to change their trip from Hogsmeade to Carkitt Market was the saner part of her at work, but her interference was something else entirely taking over. Something instinctive, protective. She knew she interfered because she wanted to stop them, or stall them, at least. She wanted to warn them away from their impending future. After all, she was on a particularly sensitive spot on the timeline. Gellert Grindelwald was not yet the monster he had become. As for Albus, Ariana was still alive, and his relationship with Aberforth was not entirely unsalvageable. She wanted this moment to last.

At the back of her mind, she knew, however ridiculous the notion was, that she was falling in love again. It was no longer the giddy, childish crush of an eighteen year old. It was love that manifested in watchfulness and comfort and unconditional trust. But it was love nonetheless, and love was blind. She thought age and experience would have taught her enough, taught her at least to allow logic to prevail, but her momentary foolishness and selfishness had proved otherwise. It did not help that she cared less and less for the future, yet more and more for the present. She wanted nothing more than to save the boy she knew now, and damn the consequences.

Slowly she closed her eyes in dread, willing everything around her to fade away. Merlin help me, she thought. None of this was supposed to happen.

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry... Real life has been unforgiving lately..._

_Thanks _Loki_! Also... trust you to notice all the little details XD It's fun to juxtapose Albus and Gellert, especially their behavior at school (though I must have gotten it wrong - since Albus would always stay the model student and Gellert got expelled)._

_Oooh.. another hug for_ uma ramrup_! You didn't see it coming?! Well, yay! I thought the youth potion part was too obvious and was trying to tone it down X) I almost wanted them to get caught... Albus has to pay somehow. Bad Albus._

_Ah _Professor_, sorry for the long wait :x I'm glad you enjoyed Albus's prank! He needs to be taught a lesson though. Ah.. Gellert's involvement is a tricky subject. I'm very happy to know that you can accept the less explicit ADGG going on in an ADMM fic, as generally Albus is bisexual in my works, be it in the distant past or the present. I've sort of braced myself for some bashing regarding that, so I'm really glad to know that's fine with you._


	8. The Champion

Albus and Gellert's search for the Elder Wand remained fruitless throughout October. They roamed the shop thrice undetected, but each trip was truncated by Gregorovitch's unanticipated appearance. By their fourth attempt, Gregorovitch discovered their wards, after which members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad remained on guard at all times. Recognizing that their chances were few, the boys returned to Hogwarts to review their tactics.

Unfortunately, little spare time remained for them both, as Minerva's detentions stretched across the last two weeks of the month.

Gellert was tasked with dropping off the Headmaster's letters at the doorsteps of Muggle-born wizards and witches for Hogwarts's mid-year intake. He was to deliver some fifty letters in two weeks. Once Minerva's tracking spell turned active, he could apparate outside of campus grounds.

The task did not rest well with Gellert. How he despised the notion of visiting the Muggle world, not to mention inviting the inferior into their realm. He had defied Minerva's instructions every night, by dumping the envelopes on the sidewalk, burning them with Incendio, and rearranging the alphabets to word an admittance letter to the local asylum. Minerva had found his methods rather creative and entertaining.

Both teacher and student knew that she did not entrust to him the real letters, but the task itself was taxing enough. Eventually she transfigured the letters into Howlers that exploded upon his unsuccessful delivery. Ultimately, it was Albus's persuasion that pushed Gellert to complete his tasks on time, saving him from an extension to his torturous detentions.

Conversely, Albus was surprisingly obedient. In two weeks he was to wandlessly clear a patch of land near the Forbidden Forest, to flatten the ground and revegetate the surrounds with young cherry blossoms. The spot would later become the location of Hagrid's Hut. Minerva watched him carry an axe towards the Forest every evening, and came back at midnight with his robes torn and muddy, and twigs entangled in his hair. He was always humming an upbeat tune when he climbed back up the hill, and he would wave at her whenever he spotted her watching through her window. In five days, the patch was as habitable as can be without the hut in place.

With nine evenings of detention remaining, Minerva asked Albus to mark her First Years' assignments, a task she knew he could accomplish effortlessly. His detentions usually ended with chess games and hot chocolate, until eventually he had marked all her papers, except those above O.W.L. which she reserved for herself. They spent their time chatting instead, and to each it involved many fascinating discoveries.

Two weeks came to an end, but Albus found reasons to visit her office just the same. Their encounter at Gregorovitch's was not forgotten but cautiously unmentioned. Albeit reluctantly, Minerva admitted that nothing alerted her more than the characteristic knock on her door at nine o'clock sharp.

She was falling deeper for him, if it was at all possible.

It was dangerous and wrong on too many levels to count. Rather than a simple question of propriety - which they were violating in like manner, she had probably broken ninety-nine rules out of a hundred regarding time travel. Her continued subsistence was her only proof that she had not yet broken every existing rule. Given the tremendous amount of disruption she must have bestowed upon the universe, she wondered at which point she would eventually undo her own birth and erase her existence altogether.

As Minerva watched the auburn-haired devil cock his head to one side in deep contemplation for his next chess move, she smiled wistfully. She could not even blame herself for failing to resist the temptation.

For ten years, she thought he was gone. Ten years she had lived in solitude, in longing. For all the peace and order he had strived to maintain in her world, her world was shattered the moment he - selflessly and selfishly - took his departure. So for ten years, part of her had been waiting. She knew, if he had known, that he would have been disappointed. For she was waiting, ironically, for the same someone who took him to take her as well.

Yet now he was back. He was equally witty, equally mischievous, and equally compassionate. Above all else, he was alive.

How could she resist?

* * *

Meanwhile, news of the Triwizard Tournament flooded the Hogwarts corridors. The upcoming Yule Ball in particular had become the center of excitement. By Armando's request, Minerva taught dancing lessons to the upper years. The arrangement was much to Albus's amusement and Gellert's disgust.

Fortunately, it was to the advantage of the more reluctant that the seventh year boys outnumbered the girls. Arcturus Black and Belvina Black were the last pair to advance onto the dance floor upon Minerva's incessant urging.

Gellert dragged Albus to one side as the music started. Elphias was sitting on a bench, engrossed in his Care of Magical Creatures notes. Not far away, Septimus Weasley was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, humming along in amusement as the swaying couples stepped on each other's toes. He was also bracing himself for someone to knock Filius Flitwick over.

"You dragged me out of the Room for this?" Gellert asked incredulously.

"I thought a break would do you good." Albus shrugged carelessly. Leaning in, he lowered his voice into a whisper. "You heard the Headmaster, this is a mandatory course. You add one more misdemeanor to your records and the Headmaster will send you straight back to Durmstrang."

Gellert groaned. "You're only abiding because Marie's teaching it."

Minerva was surveying the dancing students, while correcting their postures, and naming the moves they did wrong. To her displeasure, when the first batch of students cleared her examination, she noticed Albus and Gellert standing idly by the benches. As she approached them, Septimus, who was trying to blend into the background, and Elphias, who had unwittingly blended into the background, also came into view.

She came to a stop and started tapping her feet impatiently. "What are you four doing here?"

"Breathing," Gellert grumbled, just as Albus elbowed him in the ribs.

Minerva's eyebrows rose higher at his blatant disrespect. "Get up now, find a partner and join your classmates." She commanded, waving her wand in a shooing gesture. "I won't let you leave without three dances each."

"All the girls are taken, Professor. Perhaps you would like to join me?" Albus extended his hand in hopes that Minerva would take his, but her eyes were cold and her voice colder still.

"Unless you four are physically incapable, I see no reason that you cannot find a partner among yourselves," she chided.

"You must be joking." Septimus groaned.

"I certainly am not, Mr. Weasley. Oh, do come by my office so I can evaluate your choice of attire on the night of the ball." Minerva added, remembering the hideous outfit Ronald Weasley had managed to find for his night. The image was embedded in her mind as a reminder of Weasley aesthetics. In case his suit needed transfiguration, she could make the necessary changes for him.

"Come now, two by two. Choose your partner." She urged impatiently.

Gellert deliberated momentarily before turning to Albus, only to realize that the space beside him was empty. Albus and Elphias joined the dance floor as the rest of the class hooted and cheered. Gellert scowled.

"Guess it's just you and me, mate." The redhead patted his shoulder in a manner too affectionate for his comfort.

"I don't dance." Gellert grunted in response. He was about to leave the room, regardless of Albus's warning, when he felt an uncommonly strong tug on his robes.

"Oh, believe me, pal, I hate to do this as much as you do." Septimus grabbed the back of Gellert's collar and started dragging him onto the dance floor, much to the latter's horror. "But we don't have a choice, come on!"

Minerva waved her hand again and the music resumed. Albus led Elphias smoothly along with other practising couples, while flashing her an occasional grin. Following closely behind was a reluctant and almost furious Gellert Grindelwald dragged along like a marionette by a determined Septimus Weasley. They stumbled, yelped, groaned, and generally tramped on each other's toes until both faces were flushed beyond compare.

Minerva watched the pair fall into place with ill-masked amusement. For all the points she had docked from Albus since she caught him at Gregorovitch's, Mr. Weasley might win some back for Gryffindor.

* * *

The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons contestants arrived at Hogwarts on the last day of October. There were only a handful that came, and none were particularly impressive. Young Olympe Maxime was the only exception. Minerva could recognize the half-giantess and future Beauxbatons Headmistress from any distance away.

It was Minerva's good fortune that the current Headmaster of Beauxbatons was otherwise occupied and could not attend the Tournament himself. Minerva was not exceptionally enthusiastic about explaining her backstory as a Beauxbatons alumni to less gullible listeners.

When their guests were properly introduced, Armando revealed the Goblet of Fire. Blue-white flames roared high above the brim as he vanished the jewelled casket. The Triwizard Champions would be selected in five days. With a sincere warning and half-hearted encouragement, he bid the applicants good luck and announced the beginning of their feast.

* * *

When Albus visited her quarters that evening, Minerva did not lay out the chessboard as she usually did. He saw her sitting by the fireplace, her hands clasped primly on her knee, her emerald eyes chained to the brilliant, blooming flames. She nodded in acknowledgement as he sank down into the chair opposite hers.

"You remind me of Elphias." He remarked with a charming smile.

"Physically or intellectually?" She replied offhandedly.

"Neither," he chuckled. He tapped his lips with his finger intently as though he was struggling to link her to a mental image of his best friend. He uttered 'ah' in fake realization, clapping his hands dramatically to enhance the effect. "Elphias was worried that I would participate in the Triwizard Tournament."

She snorted. "You say it as though you will not."

"What a wonderful coincidence." He leaned back against his chair nonchalantly. "That is exactly what I was thinking."

"Oh, do humor me, Mr. Dumbledore." She mocked, rolling her eyes.

"I mean it." He stressed, resting both hands on the arms of his chair. His expression was serious. "I don't intend to join the Triwizard Tournament. You shouldn't worry."

"I'm not worried," she snapped defensively.

"But you are, Professor." He stated firmly, and for a moment he could tell that she felt uncomfortably exposed. He added quietly, "I'm not blind. Your concern is apparent in your eyes. And I appreciate it-" He clarified quickly. "But I'm just stating the facts."

She fell silent, as if she had come to terms with his aggravating ability to see through her. Then she shut her eyes, seemingly weighing the truth in his statement. At last, she uttered in a small voice, intoned with just a trace of plea, "Your word, Albus?"

She did not notice her use of his first name, but he did. Slowly he nodded. "My word."

Minerva breathed a sigh of relief. Sensing that the argument was settled, she pointed her wand at her shelves and levitated her chessboard to the table between them. As the chess pieces rose to life, her cautious emerald eyes met his brilliant blue ones again. They were finally rid of soundless trepidation.

"I will be very disappointed if that is a lie." She reiterated still, but what followed was a genuine smile.

"Most Head of Houses would say the contrary, especially Professor Merrythought. She likes pushing her favorites onto the battlefield." He noted lightheartedly.

"She does, doesn't she?" Minerva replied, feigning a soft chuckle. Ironically, she would have done the same, if the game was Quidditch. But this was the infamous Triwizard Tournament, and one fatal accident was enough to deter her for life.

"Her priorities are different, of course," he said, without commenting on her troubled expression. To distract her, he gave his command, "Pawn to d4." His black figurine started moving across the board.

"White always moves first in my time." She commented carelessly. "Pawn to d5."

"Conventional, but not compulsory." He pointed out. "Pawn to c4."

"If I remember correctly, it was stated in a Muggle rulebook." She contended, getting into the heat of the argument. The vision of a lifeless, limp Cedric Diggory that had temporarily invaded her thoughts was quickly forgotten.

"Ah, word takes a while to travel to our world," he mused aloud. "Wouldn't that give White an inherent advantage over Black?"

"Marginally." She retorted, watching her pawn take his at the center of the board.

"A determining factor, if not a game between novices." He moved another pawn while watching her expression fixedly. "You seem curiously pertained to an era that I know nothing of."

"Nonsense." She quipped, revealing nothing as she realized her own mistake.

"If you say so, Professor."

Minerva won the game in two hours, to Albus's disappointment. He gulped the last of his hot chocolate and returned to his dormitories. She remained seated as her grotesquely maimed figurines gathered their detached heads and limbs, and gingerly reorganized themselves on her chessboard.

Heedlessly her eyes travelled to a stack of books she had half-hidden behind her desk. On top of them all was the library's only copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She had yet to name the overwhelming urge that had possessed her to confiscate those books, many of which detailing the dark arts, but she had acted on impulse. Regardless of how they were obtained, the books were now in her retention.

First Gregorovitch's, then the books, and now her blatant discouragement to Albus's application into the Triwizard Tournament. How obsessively overprotective had she gotten?

She sighed and downed the rest of her tea. The blend tasted cold and bitter on her tongue. As she eyed Albus's empty cup across the table, she wished she had asked the house elves to bring her hot chocolate instead. The sweet luxury always reminded her of her dear Professor Dumbledore, and in situations like this, he always knew what to do.

* * *

Friday came faster than to Minerva's liking. She was standing beside Armando, who was about to announce the third Triwizard Champion. Beauxbatons Champion Olympe Maxime and Durmstrang Champion Gellert Grindelwald were both standing onstage. Minerva was not surprised that Olympe scored better than her schoolmates. Even in Minerva's time as a student, the half-giantess was famed for her immense strength and resilience. Gellert's participation was more to her astonishment, for he did not seem remotely interested in these events.

The Goblet spat a mouthful of red flames and a small piece of parchment shot up into the air. Armando raised his hand to catch the third parchment, which drifted left and right but eventually in his direction.

Minerva's attention was fixed on the parchment. Discounting Albus, few candidates remained. Filius was the next logical assumption, for he was almost as skilled as Albus. Seeing that he had become a Dueling Champion, he had sought fame and glory as much as anyone. Marvolo Gaunt's violent temper would surely remove him from the list, despite his undeniable powers. She could not imagine Slughorn in this effortful race for glory; race for the viewing stands, yes. The Black siblings had a chance if the others did not beat them to it. She was moving on to recount the possible candidates in her own house when Armando's face lit up in delight.

"And the Hogwarts Champion is… Albus Dumbledore!"

She froze. For all his promises, he had lied to her.

Albus rose from his seat, grinning, as Septimus patted his back encouragingly. Elphias smiled weakly, but clapped nonetheless. Most of Hogwarts broke into enthusiastic applause and cheers, except the Slytherins, who wore bitter grimaces as the Gryffindor crossed his bench and approached the stage.

Yet when he came forth, Minerva knew something was wrong.

He was bowing and raising his hand in acknowledgement to the deafening cheers sounding from behind, but his brilliant blue eyes were not as calm as the front he had put up.

Minerva recognized it instantly. It was not him who had betrayed her, it was someone else who had set him up. It all felt eerily familiar. And familiar things in her later life often led to disaster.

Armando shook Albus's hand warmly and welcomed him onto the stage. Obviously the Headmaster was very pleased that the ace of Hogwarts had come up to fight in Hogwarts's name. Albus walked to the front and stood next to Gellert. For one fleeting second, he caught Minerva's eye. His calm, confident expression was overlaid by an almost unnoticeable hint of confusion and nervousness.

Minerva turned away eventually, knowing that their display was under the scrutiny of all the occupants in the Great Hall. She would have to question him later.

* * *

Albus was at Minerva's chambers the following hours. She had some warm drinks ready, but the chessboard was nowhere in sight. When she came into view, her eyes shone of worry, and her hair was undone. His eyes caught onto a bottle of Firewhiskey standing on her desk.

"You did not put your name into the Goblet of Fire." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," He admitted. Her acute observation did save him a lot of explanation. "But you should know best that the Goblet chooses the contestant. Whoever nominated me has not left me a chance."

She sank into her chair with a muffled grunt. "This has happened before," She muttered quietly to herself. "You can't withdraw now." She then said in a louder, audible voice.

"No, I cannot." He agreed solemnly. Then he gleamed. "But it is an interesting opportunity."

"Do you even know what you're up against?" She snapped, his nonchalant response maddening to her ears. "This tournament is extremely dangerous. There is a reason why some parents want it banned."

"I understand, but I trust that our professors would strive to keep us safe. Alive, at least." There came another grunt from her direction, but he ignored her unlettered complaint. "This is what happens when the caster of the spell that secures the Goblet is not skillful enough." He shrugged helplessly.

"The Headmaster is plenty skillful, mind you." She retorted.

"But not enough, apparently. Someone managed to breach his ward."

She nodded weakly, silently acknowledging that Armando's inability was a determining reason that the ploy was successful. "I should have added an extra layer of protection."

"I'll be fine, Professor." He smiled reassuringly. His confidence did not falter despite her warnings. "It is but a game. How dangerous can it be?"

Minerva shook her head. "You don't want to know."

He chuckled and turned away. Suddenly his attention was trained to the shelf behind her. "You have a copy of…" He faltered.

She turned around uncertainly, then she blanched. He had noticed the new stack of books lying on her shelf, including The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She was going to put the books away earlier, but the news of Albus becoming Hogwarts's Champion jumbled her tasks completely.

"We just- I thought-" He stammered, which was unusual for him, then he found his words. "Sorry, I was just surprised to see it here. That book was missing from the library."

"I see," she said quietly. If Albus had known that the book was missing, Gellert would likely have noticed the same. The conspicuous Hogwarts Library stamp on the spine stopped her from formulating an outrageous lie. She downtoned it in her mind and explained, "I am rather stressed lately, so I thought my favorite book from my childhood would ease my mind… Perhaps you shouldn't stay here for too long, Mr. Dumbledore. I'd like to get some rest."

"Of course, Professor." He recovered from his momentary surprise, but she saw the suspicious glint that passed his features. "I'll see you tomorrow."

When he was finally gone, Minerva went up to her desk and uncorked her bottle of Firewhiskey. She much preferred Gillywater, for she was not particularly alcohol tolerant, but she liked the burning sensation that accompanied the stronger drink. She felt that she needed it anyway.

So she downed half a glass, then another half, until slowly her world turned into a dizzying swirl of colors. In her dizziness, all she registered was that she was in the Deputy Headmistress's office. Not the Headmistress's, not her Seventh Year dormitories, not her Auror training quarters. She was where she was supposed to be, where she had been for half a century.

It meant that Albus was in the Headmaster's office, probably writing his replies to the incompetent Cornelius Fudge. Maybe he wanted to see her. It couldn't be that late-

She climbed out of her chair and stumbled towards the door, a half-filled glass still clutched in her hand. Then she tripped, quite unceremoniously, and she landed onto the carpet. It was where she fell unconscious until morning.

* * *

Minerva soon accepted that Albus's fate was sealed regarding the Triwizard Tournament. He was a Champion, and no amount of worrying would change that. They met as frequently as possible. That is, when Minerva was not otherwise occupied by work, and Albus was not chained to his assignments, Quidditch training, or Gellert's extremely time-consuming schemes.

"Expelliarmus," he said. "Say I didn't miss, and you didn't deflect it. You are now disarmed. Will you declare defeat?"

They were duelling verbally alongside playing chess in her chambers. Minerva insisted that they discuss dueling tactics, in case dueling came forth in the Tournament. In fact, she wanted to duel him physically for practice, but he was fiercely against the notion. Ultimately she dropped the suggestion.

"Cheater," she grumbled accusingly, obviously geared towards the many assumptions that followed his incantation. Verbal dueling was theoretical training and not of much use, but it has its merits. They could address all possibilities, however unlikely, that might happen in an actual fight. However, it would not be easy for him to disarm her with a basic spell when dueling face-to-face.

He smiled pleasantly, waiting for an answer, and she rolled her eyes.

"No," she said simply, moving her chess piece with her hand. "I'd use a blast of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder if I had it with me, but I'm inclined to believe that I won't. In that case, I'll Confund you or use Nox Maxima to blind you, then probably bend to fetch my wand. That is to assume we are not dueling on a cliff and my wand was not plunged into a hundred-foot waterfall."

"Confundus is not an easy spell to perform wandlessly," he pointed out.

"Expelliarmus is not a difficult spell to block," she countered dryly.

"Touché."

"Trust me, Mr. Dumbledore, Confundus is a spell that I can do in my sleep," she assured him. "My choices are a tad more effective than Accio. I've seen time and again wizards and witches thinking they could summon a wand after being disarmed. It's high time that someone address the ineffectiveness of wandless summoning charms in Hogwarts's Charms curriculum."

"By that logic, the disarming spell is the most potent defensive charm, is it not?"

"If you have a brilliant aim and your opponent is absolute rubbish at casting protective charms." She shrugged, "But yes, I've seen great wizards use it against the killing curse."

"Successfully?" He asked in mild astonishment.

"Yes," she said simply.

"Extraordinary," he said, seeming genuinely impressed. "Why haven't I heard of that before?"

"You're too young to have heard of it." She almost snorted. She would never have dreamed of describing Albus Dumbledore as 'too young', and to his face, no less. But Expelliarmus was made famous by Harry Potter. For that reason, Albus was really too young to have known about all that had happened in the Second Wizarding War. Then again, he never lived long enough to witness the final battle, she thought morosely.

Judging from his raised eyebrow, he was still unconvinced. "Yet such a feat was not written into 'A History of Magic'?"

"Not yet," Minerva spoke the truth. She added, though falsely, "But I'll speak to the publisher."

Albus paused, assessing the duel in his mind. Few opponents would refuse to surrender after being disarmed, for without a wand to aim, said wizard or witch would have to relinquish all offensive spells and most defensive spells. "You know, you can always run," he suggested.

"I will never." Minerva spat with disgust.

"Not to surrender." Albus clarified quickly, "Just to reorient yourself, perhaps hide behind a column. It gives you a second of preparation to land a physical attack."

"Oh, I don't need a column to stay hidden, Mr. Dumbledore," she smirked.

"A disillusionment charm then?"

She shook her head. "Transformation."

He appeared dumbfounded. Hesitantly, he verified, "As in human transfiguration?"

"No, as in this." Minerva startled him by changing into her feline form within a blink of his eyes. Her tail swished left and right as she watched him through dark slits in emerald wells. He wore the same expression as Ronald Weasley when she first transformed before him, minus his unpolished outburst. But this was Albus, her mentor, the all-knowing wizard who had trained her to become an Animagus. Impressing him brought about a whole new level of satisfaction. She transformed back, watching him smugly. "I'd still need a shrub to hide, of course."

"Of course," Albus echoed blankly in his surprise. "An Animagus. Impressive."

In three words, she felt more rewarded than receiving all the thunderous ovations from her Third Years combined whenever she demonstrated her transformation.

She shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. "If the tables were turned, would you run?"

He hesitated again, but only for a moment. "Perhaps. If it means I could save a life."

"Your own?" She prompted.

He chuckled. "Probably not that one."

"I see," she paused, shaking her head. A few dark strands fell from her bun, somewhat softening her angular appearance. "I rather hope you would."

"Are you worried for me, Professor?"

"As worried as any teacher for her students." She lied.

He beamed, that infuriating, perceptive twinkle evident in his brilliant blue eyes. She felt as though he had seen right through her. Suddenly he held her hand and rose, dragging her up.

"What-?" She uttered in confusion.

He pulled her to the center of her room, and despite herself she complied, following his confident strides with small, stumbling steps.

"I thought we were in the middle of a duel and a game," she said dryly upon regaining her composure.

"Then we might as well be in the middle of a dance, don't you agree?"

"Seeking revenge now, Mr. Dumbledore?" The corner of her lips lifted in a sly smile. He should know better than to challenge her; she was not an easy opponent.

"You did pair me up with Elphias," he reminded her.

"One of the three," she snickered. "You could have chosen Mr. Grindelwald for all I care."

"In that case, at least Elphias was willing to move." He leaned in, closer than she would have allowed him to. He could smell her faint perfume at that distance. It was lavender, light and sweet. "But you should have accepted my invitation nonetheless and spared me the embarrassment."

"Don't turn it against me, Albus," she teased.

He bowed, smiling and extending his hand, "May I have this dance, Minerva?"

"Are you serious?"

"I've never been more serious in my life." He helped place her hand on his shoulder. Then his hand curled securely around her waist. "Though perhaps some music would ease your tension," he added as an afterthought. He promptly spotted the gramophone behind her. With a tip of his wand, music started playing.

"Wait-" Minerva recognized the tune immediately, but the hand clasped firmly on her waist stopped her from scrambling to shut the gramophone off.

"Relax," he said reassuringly, pulling her closer.

She blushed furiously, but stopped struggling. The introduction of the song started to numb her senses, and despite her unease, she put her foot forward upon his prompt.

The tune was unfamiliar to Albus, but he started swaying to the music nonetheless. It was soothing, slow, and a perfect little tune for their dance. Little did he know that he had sung this song to her in his later years to win her heart. But she knew. She remembered.

The music faded slightly, and a voice familiar to both of them echoed in her chambers. Minerva shut her eyes in embarrassment as she heard a knowing chuckle escape Albus's lips.

_I've a very strange feeling I've ne'er felt before,  
__It's a kind of a grind of depression.  
__My heart's acting strangely, it feels rather sore,  
__At least, it gives me that impression._

It was Minerva's voice - a shy, subdued recording of her usually stern, unforgiving voice.

Silently she cursed herself for her foolishness. But what could she have done? For all her years of learning and teaching, she did not know how to conjure a gramophone record out of thin air, that is, complete with a recording that had yet to exist. The songs of her time could not be found in this era. How she missed listening to them as she did every other evening in her chambers when Albus was gone.

She was secretly glad that he did not comment on her childishness or her singing. He was oddly silent as he guided her across her carpeted floor in slow, careful steps.

_My pulses beat madly without any cause,  
__Believe me, I'm telling you truly.  
__I'm gay without pause, then sad without cause,  
__My spirits are truly unruly._

She was melting into familiar glides, as he twirled her around and she complied with ease. It was all very nostalgic - the familiar grip of his hand, the pace of his steps, and the warmth of his body.

She remembered the night they had spent at the Ministry ball, shortly after her graduation. She was attending the event as a junior Auror. Yet while everyone was enjoying themselves within the extravagant hall, she was standing alone on the balcony, far away from where the couples swayed, where boring dialogues were maintained and empty compliments were exchanged. Away from all the commotion, all the people.

She heard the fast-paced song fade and another slower, moving tune replace the ongoing racket. She turned around, and she saw her professor walking towards her, stopping short before her and extending his hand. Slowly but surely, she placed her hand onto his and they started gliding across the smooth, tiled floor, enjoying the gentle breeze of spring and privacy beyond the crowds.

_For I'm falling in love with someone, some one boy.  
__I'm falling in love with someone head a-whirl,  
__Yes, I'm falling in love with someone plain to see,  
__I'm sure I could love someone madly, if someone would only love me._

She looked up in anticipation, but Albus's face was unreadable. Slowly the music faded away, and the characteristic, endearing smile returned to his face.

"You have a lovely voice," he complimented, after a moment's contemplation. He seemed to have other things to add, but at last he remained silent.

"Next time I'll find a proper record," she mumbled. "Your fault for doing things without warning to begin with."

"You mean-" there is a next time? He thought, getting hopeful. He swallowed his nerves and shook his head. "I'd much prefer dancing to this record."

"Flatterer," she said quietly. "Come," she pulled him back to their chairs, without bothering to sit down. "I want to finish this game."

He smiled. "You mean you want to win this game."

"That too." She smirked, overlooking the chess board. "It was cunning of you to take me away at such a crucial point of the game. Bishop to e6."

His shoulders slumped defeatedly as her White Bishop moved to face his Black King. He could still move, but his fate was as good as sealed. Her sly smile told him that she was thinking the same thing.

"Double check, Albus," she prompted at last. "It's about time you return to your dormitories."

* * *

"Have you applied for Auror training yet?" Gellert asked absently without looking up from his papers.

"Yes," Albus answered. He was rubbing his forehead wearily. "Though I thought you'd want me to postpone that course."

"No… It's a good step to take. Gathering forces takes time, and meticulous planning," Gellert answered, while highlighting positions of power as he read through a list of names. "We can walk separate paths and join hands when we ought to."

The boys were holding their discussion in an abandoned warehouse near Hogsmeade on a cold Wednesday night, one week before the Tournament began. Gellert was as insistent on staying on schedule as ever. His engrossment in timely matters was unhealthily ferocious. Contrariwise, Albus was both physically and mentally exhausted after nine hours of lessons, back to back, and supervising the weekly Quidditch practice as Captain. He thought he ought to pass captaincy on to someone less burdened if he wanted to survive his last year with some sanity left in him.

"I much prefer the legal means of doing things." Albus said sternly, in response to Gellert's suggestions.

"I know. I'm not planning against it. Besides, it's much easier to convince those beneath you to follow your objectives if you rise to power within the system." Gellert looked up, seemingly pleased that they harbored such great differences in morality. "Your nobility and trustworthiness makes you fit to guide the light forces. But it is I who encompasses the guile to maneuver the darker realms. In eventuality we shall meet."

Albus chortled disbelievingly. "I'm seventeen, Gellert. You intend for me to become a commander in the Ministry?"

"No, I want you to become the next Minister for Magic, Dumbledore," Gellert corrected. "In due course, naturally. You must rise above all others. Attain absolute power. That position is what the best of Hogwarts is trained for, is it not?"

Albus did not have a chance to answer, for suddenly red light zapped out of Gellert's wand. It hit a corner behind him, where torn curtains were draped over lopsided timber cabinets. Albus heard a strangled cry, followed by a short whimper.

Gellert walked over to the cabinets, pulling out a creature with his hands. The dim light masked his features, but Albus could identify that his expression had changed somewhat when he reemerged.

"It's a cat, Gellert." Albus recognized the furry creature and the signature swishing tail, which was still swinging weakly despite Gellert's clutch. He sighed in relief, then chuckled as he ran his hand through his auburn hair. "Merlin's beard, you're turning paranoid." The cat meowed in agreement, struggling as she tried to bite Gellert's suffocating hand around her neck.

"Some cat," Gellert sneered, studying the animal in his hand with intent. He then held it out like a specimen for inspection. The light from the broken skylight dawned on her, revealing the striped furry coat and distinctive markings around her eyes. Gellert snarled, "It's her, don't tell me you don't know."

Albus stiffened. The grey stripes were unmistakable. Her big, round, emerald eyes stared back at him helplessly, and he felt the same helplessness rise within himself. He maintained his outward calm nonetheless. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The one who has been sneaking around on us, stalling us from our plans for the Hallows-" Gellert circled Albus slowly, his hand still clutching the cat's neck in a deathly grip. "You know, don't you? You've suspected it. How she managed to sneak into Gregorovitch's undetected, how she's always following us when you least expect it." The cat protested in his grip, but his eyes darkened and his fingers closed tightly around her neck. She whimpered in response.

"Shall we go back to our discussion?" Albus feigned a laugh. His hand swept past his pocket, where his wand was held, but he decided to hold out for as long as he could. Gellert could not have known that she was an Animagus. If he revealed her now, Gellert would treat it as confirmation to his speculations. With his hand around her throat, Gellert still had the upper hand. Albus added unwaveringly, "This sight is too comical for me to take you seriously."

"An unregistered Animagus," Gellert announced with a malicious smirk, "How convenient."

"Come now, Gellert, this is ridiculous. You're scaring her." Albus eyed the cat fleetingly. She was unarmed… was she? She should be fully clothed in her human form. She should be armed. Unless Gellert's non-verbal spell had disarmed her.

"I intend to intimidate thousands, tens and hundreds of thousands," Gellert countered readily, "Every creature on the lands I rule, Dumbledore. How sentimental you have become to argue with me about killing a cat, when we are raising an army to conquer all."

Albus sighed. "To rule, yes, but it is not my intention to kill. I've told you too many times to count."

"People do not bow without incentive. I intend to give them reason."

"We will, but reason will come in a civilized manner. They will see reason because we guide them to it." Albus added stiffly, "We are not tyrants, Gellert. Our objective is to enlighten, not to oppress."

"I beg to differ." Gellert began, but he decided that their precious time was better used discussing another issue. His attention returned to the creature in his clutch.

"Did you know when I first laid my eyes on this woman?" Gellert asked conversationally without breaking eye contact with Albus, as if his hand was not closing around her throat and her breathing was not getting shallower by the second. "I came by earlier than Ridgebit on August thirtieth. I've wanted to have a look at what resources Hogwarts had that I could not access at Durmstrang."

At Albus's questioning look, Gellert sneered. "As you know, Dumbledore, I have been studying the dark arts long before I met you. With that there comes times when I have to practice. I do, but on animals, not humans. I am not unfeeling, but I am not daft, either. I recognize that fear is the fastest - not the most effective - but the fastest way to oppress. It takes a fair bit of practice, eliciting fear; but like everything else, it is a skill that can be perfected - physically, socially, psychologically, and magically."

"I admit to you now that I was less thorough at that time, less experienced and more… emotional." He wrinkled his nose his disgust, letting Albus know that emotion to him was a despicable weakness. "I wanted an audience… Someone to share my beliefs, someone's acknowledgement, someone's cooperation." His voice softened, for only a moment, "Someone like you."

Albus opened his mouth to interrupt, but Gellert shushed him with a cold glare.

"Karkaroff came around. He was fascinated by my indulgence in the dark arts, but he was equally ridden by jealousy. In December, I was reported to the Headmaster. All my research was confiscated. I was only kept from expulsion on condition that I distanced myself completely from the realm. No more of the subject, the books, or practice. I was under surveillance."

Realization dawned on Albus's face. "Ridgebit was here to watch you?"

"Under the Headmaster's orders, yes," Gellert sneered. "But I dare say Ridgebit himself didn't know what to look for or what was out of the ordinary. He is, curiously, a boy of above average intelligence, but his attention is grossly devoted to his study of dragons."

"I have a friend like that," Albus said in a small voice, the twinkling spark in his eyes getting dimmer as the conversation wore on. "Truth be told, I envy him."

"We are special, you and I. Together we shall hold the world in our hands. We shall be invincible! What is enviable about your friend that we do not yet have?"

"Content," Albus said simply.

Gellert huffed, disgusted. "You do not learn, do you? Content is for the masses. One must yearn to strive, to succeed." He continued his story, "That night, before Ridgebit's arrival, I sneaked into the Hogwarts library. It was ridiculous - one book was all I found, one book that I had not read before, one! But I was content, Dumbledore," he pronounced the word as if it pained him. "I was so desperate, you see, after a year of deprivation, to see anything at all that reminded me of my trampled endeavors."

"I spent my time reading, and I admit now that it was truly a fascinating collection of research, much like my own. I was reciting spells so I could practise in my own time. Then there came a pleasant surprise. I heard noises. I was trailed by someone, so I retreated. Then she transformed right in front of my very eyes." Gellert clutched the cat's neck with so much force that despite her state of unwake, her eyes bulged and she raised her chin involuntarily. "This cat is none other than Minette Marie."

For a moment, no one breathed in the room. Albus was deathly silent. Then Gellert sneered, and Albus recovered, knowing that any amount of denying would help no more.

"If you already know who she is, then let her go." Albus warned, pulling out his wand. "I don't care what form she takes. If she is a witch and you dare perform the killing curse on her, it is a felony grave enough to land you in Azkaban for a lifetime."

"But that is the downfall of being an unregistered Animagus, is it not?" Gellert taunted. "No one can prove that this cat is, in fact, a woman. No member of the Wizengamot will care enough to fight for the rights of this poor creature."

"What do you want?" Albus felt cold sweat form on his forehead. He did not want to harm either of them, but if Gellert forced his hand-

"You know, Dumbledore, I've always thought that you are my perfect partner in crime. Your competence and intellect are incomparable. But I have noticed one thing lately, and correct me if I'm wrong. I'm starting to think that you are less enthusiastic than you ought to be. One fundamental element is missing for you in this search…" Gellert finished meaningfully, "Motivation."

Albus countered hurriedly, "You know I've searched for one thing specifically-"

"Yes, the Resurrection Stone. And I the Elder Wand. Our interests bear no conflict, and we complement each other well." Gellert almost laughed. "But that is exactly the issue. For, from my rather keen observation, the person you are most attached to is, as of this moment, very much alive. A man who holds a living person dear does not yearn for the Resurrection Stone."

Albus fell into peculiar silence. Gellert started pacing around him.

"There is but one simple solution," Gellert gibed. "One spell can fix all."

"Do not provoke me, Gellert." Albus's wand followed his partner's every movement. "You may have learned the dark arts for far longer, but I am still a shade more skillful. You cannot win."

"You do not know that, do you? Not until we play against each other, and I say we should."

Albus faltered slightly. "I don't want to duel you."

"Oh, some things are better determined by other means. Fairer means." Gellert said nonchalantly. "The Tournament will prove who is fitter to sit on the throne when our schemes rise to fruition."

Albus lowered his wand by a fraction. "I have never wanted that."

"Power?" Gellert snickered again, obviously unconvinced. "No, Dumbledore, you yearn for power, that much I can see. You refrain from showing it, but you do. I understand, because I do, more so than you. The temptation is too great."

"I thought we intended to rule the Muggles together."

"Together? How childish." Gellert sneered. "To gather forces, to fight, to revolutionize our world as it is - that is what we do together. But there is only one king for every kingdom."

"You've put my name in the Goblet." Albus stated in realization. When Gellert did not answer, he pushed, "To determine who is better? Is that necessary, Gellert? Between us?"

"I believe so," came the cold answer.

Albus shook his head. "You still do not trust me. You do not trust my devotion to this scheme, nor do you trust my willingness to participate should you want absolute power for yourself."

"No, but that is human nature, Dumbledore."

"I am not like Karkaroff. I won't betray you…" Albus stiffened, his eyes travelling back to the cat's limp form. "Unless you give me a reason to."

"Really, Dumbledore? A threat? Coming from you?" Gellert scoffed derisively. "I do not fear betrayal, no. But I detest a lack of progress. No matter. A game of equal play settles our disputes."

"What is it that you want?" Albus persisted, losing his calm. "Evidently you want something, if you're going out of your way-"

"To rid ourselves of obstacles." Gellert's wand returned to the cat's neck. He watched Albus fall back into silent apprehension.

"I am still after the Resurrection Stone." Albus said in finality. "My… feelings for her will not change that."

"But I am inclined to give you… ah, what's that phrase again? A rightful kick in the arse."

Albus flashed him a dangerous glare. "You do not dare."

"Try me." Gellert waved his wand at the cat. "Petrificus-"

Albus had no time to ponder why Gellert used a full body-binding curse. He aimed a Stunner at his partner, but he was a moment too late, for Gellert's wand changed course before he could complete his incantation.

"-Totalus," Gellert finished, his wand aimed at Albus's chest. The spell hit him squarely and Albus bounced off to the other side of the room.

"You know your spells, Dumbledore, I give you that. But you lack artifice." Gellert's wand changed course again, its end pointed at his hostage. "Avada Kedavra!"

* * *

Albus did not know how many hours he had been sitting there. Perhaps it had been minutes, but time was frozen for him. He did not even know whether he was breathing. His throat was dry, his tongue with the texture of sandpaper, and he had an overwhelming urge to retch on the spot. Gellert had lifted the curse on his body, but he had no reason to move. All that remained was the cat's body, laying limp and lifeless across the table, as though she was in a deep, peaceful slumber.

At last, he climbed up to the table. He knew it was her the moment she was captured. The markings around her eyes were codes for identification that were unique to Animagi. Moments ago, he could still sense her magic nearby. Now all his senses were drowned by his distress. He could hardly hear a thing.

"I'm sorry."

Albus jumped with a start. He dropped his wand with a clatter. It bounced off the edge of the table and rolled into a narrow gap between the flooring strips. The familiarity of the voice, no more than a whisper, drained the color off his face.

Minerva unveiled herself from the dark corner, exactly where he thought she was captured by Gellert. Her disillusionment charm melted away as she approached him. Albus then realized that her eyes were trained on the cat, and she was talking to her dead body.

She took out her wand and pointed it at the cat. There was a soft, white glow, then the color of her fur changed from grey to brown, and her markings started disappearing. Minerva was untransfiguring the cat. When she was done, there laid a brown tabby with a bulge around the stomach and no markings anywhere, but a wounded leg.

"She was following me around, while I was in my Animagus form. I could communicate with her to a degree, so when Grindelwald sensed my presence, I transfigured her and let her be hit by his spell."

"But… why were you here in the first place?" Albus asked disbelievingly.

Minerva flashed him a note. It was in purple ink, and charmed in Albus's handwriting. On it was a time, a venue, and a message worded in his usual witty but gentlemanly manner. He flinched at the suggestive undertone, as though Gellert was certain that he and Minerva were romantically involved.

"But of course, he was testing my loyalty." He concluded, watching her put the note away.

"Yes, and you've just proved to him that you would turn against him for me. Not very wise, is it?"

"No, not at all. I was slightly overwhelmed." He admitted, though 'slightly overwhelmed' was the biggest understatement he could phrase. "Did you know that I did not compose that note?"

"Yes. I teach Transfiguration, after all. Magic leaves traces."

"So why did you come?" He sounded slightly agitated at that point.

"I was uncertain, still. I wanted to check." She lied.

She did not come to check. She could recognize Albus's handwriting any day, no matter how well the charm placed onto the parchment was. Besides, Gellert Grindelwald was not exceptionally gifted at Transfiguration. She only came to ensure that Gellert's wrath was not redirected at Albus's person. With the Triwizard Tournament in view and the future uncertain, she hoped to become Gellert's sole target. The last thing she wanted was for her unexpected appearance in this era to turn Albus into a target long before he needed such enemies lurking around him.

He nodded, his expression grim. For a second she thought he was going to reprimand her for her recklessness, for making him worry. It was something that her Professor Dumbledore liked to do.

Then suddenly he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Without warning, he pressed his lips to hers urgently, almost hungrily, savoring her sweetness as though this was his last chance. His lips were dry but soft, his grip firm but gentle. He still tasted of lemon and chocolate regardless.

Stunned, she was completely at a loss of how to react, until his arms pressed her closer to his body, and his hands wrapped gently around her jaw. Her lips parted, granting him access. He pulled her close, exploring her mouth with his tongue, his eyes shut tight as he angled his head slightly to the side to reach deeper.

Between their intermingled breaths, she moaned, and she felt him pushing her against the table, crushing her with his warmth. It was not a kiss of silent promises or whispered vows. He was as hungry as a starving lion as he claimed her lips, in an act that spoke of repressed lust and desire. It was unvented frustration, mingled with anxiety, with madness.

Then as sudden as it had happened, the forcefulness of his kiss melted away, and he was kissing her softly. He shifted his weight and she straightened her arched back to return his kiss. She allowed the familiarity to engulf her, to trick her into thinking everything was a dream. She was kissing her Albus right then, right there. Holding him, feeling him, knowing he had kept his promise. He was there beside her, and nothing could harm her. There was no Grindelwald, no Voldemort, no war, and no casualties. He did not fall from the tower like an angel with broken wings. He did not crash down onto the ground like a stone statue toppled and shattered.

After what felt like an eternity, they parted reluctantly. Halfheartedly she expected a feeble apology as her Professor Dumbledore would offer, and she even expected herself to reprimand him as she should, but all was forgotten when she heard him speak.

"You scared me. I thought I had lost you." He whispered, his voice soft and small.

Nothing in his voice reminded her of her mighty professor. He sounded fragile, timid, like a child who feared that he had been abandoned by his parents. His hands were resting on her shoulders, and she could feel them trembling ever so slightly.

"I'm not that gullible, Albus," she said, pulling away gently. "And I'm rather good at magic."

He shook his head, seemingly clearing his mind. "Thank Merlin, Minerva. Don't ever do that again."

She gave him a half-hearted nod as he pulled her into an embrace again, this time tenderer and silent. She shut her eyes, inhaling his familiar scent, feeling his heart thumping fast against his chiselled chest.

For all her life, it had been he who was protecting her. Her Professor Dumbledore, who was wiser, stronger, more knowledgeable, and more experienced. To him, she would always be that young, headstrong eighteen year old, always in need of a giant protective shield around her. But now the situation was reversed. Now she was wiser, she had knowledge of the future, and she had decades worth of experience. She had survived two wars, the death of her family and the death of her beloved. She was rendered weak in her time and thus she had grown to be stronger.

This time, she could protect him. She would.

* * *

Minerva was not surprised to see the blond-haired man leaning against the balustrade when she climbed the stairs to her chambers. Evidently he was expecting her, for he turned and approached her when she came to a stop before the portrait. Minerva's portrait was about to ask for her password when the witch raised her hand to silence the painting.

"Good evening, Mr. Grindelwald." She turned to her student, her eyes narrowing cautiously.

"Hello, Professor," he sneered, droning on each syllable in an unpleasant manner.

Minerva flinched slightly, for she realized that he sounded more respectful when he called her by her last name than when he used her proper title. Whereas Albus's use of her title was usually teasing by effect, Gellert's was taunting. She much preferred him calling her 'Marie' at that moment.

He came closer, scrutinizing her from head to toe in interest. "How very alive you are."

"Remarkable, isn't it?" She said dryly. "From your presence here I assume you are not surprised."

"No, I thought rather highly of you, since you've caught us at Gregorovitch's. I didn't think you would readily jump out without a wand." He sounded amused. "Dumbledore obviously thought less of you, poor lad. Did you see the shell shocked expression he wore when I cursed the cat? Tell me, how long did you wait before alerting the man that your death was faked?"

"Long enough for him to learn a lesson. Why have you come?"

"Why, to make a deal with you, of course." He was next to her in two steps, and suddenly too close for comfort.

She shifted away, but he followed. "The deal being?" She asked in an annoyed tone.

"We can settle our dispute, that is, between you and me, if you can convince Dumbledore to find me the Elder Wand before the third task of the Tournament." Gellert had curled his arm around her shoulder, and he was twirling one long, raven strand with his finger.

"Why the big rush? Surely you can afford to sit down and have a cup of tea while you're at it." She said casually despite her obvious discomfort.

"Because I have grander schemes, and I assume you know. I'm gathering some followers here and there, and making contracts as I go. Meanwhile world leaders are stirring up commotion in the Muggle world. I'd like to keep on schedule. I would have already, had Dumbledore not been… distracted."

"Either way you want me dead," Minerva stated sharply.

"I am not a murderer," Gellert snapped. Then in a calmer voice, he added, "I prefer not to kill, but I clear my obstacles. Anyone who has an ounce of common sense would know better than to stand in my way."

"You know he cannot find the wand on time." Minerva reasoned angrily. "He has not the slightest clue..."

"But you might," his eyes seemed to say, but that remained unspoken.

"... I would not even bother telling him about this ridiculous deal of yours," she finished unyieldingly.

"I will be keeping time," he reminded her.

"Yes, make a tally, keep your notes close, and do snap some photographs." She retorted sarcastically.

His hand was on the wall behind her in a second, as he forcefully backed her against the rough stone surface. Minerva heard her portrait gasp. Gellert saw a flash of his professor's fear when she almost tripped as she stumbled back. Her reaction stemmed from surprise at his assault rather than actual timidity of his person, but reading that moment of unease gave him satisfaction nonetheless.

"You underestimate me, Professor." He snarled, his face just an inch away from hers.

Minerva could feel his eyes bore into hers - cold, unfeeling blue eyes. Those bottomless wells of the same color were so unlike Albus's, which always glinted of lighthearted mischief. For a moment, she recoiled, thinking he was suspicious, or that he knew.

He knew that she knew the location of the Elder Wand.

But of course, she gave him reasons to be suspicious. She followed him into the library. She trailed after them into Gregorovitch's. Then later, in her foolishness, she confiscated their books from the library, including - her biggest mistake - Hogwart's sole copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. It was a children's book, a book they could access anywhere, but the fact that she felt the need to confiscate it meant that she too believed that the stories were more than mere fairy tales.

Gellert Grindelwald was a man so eager to win that his jealousy could easily be doused with the slightest hint of a threat. His drive to remove her was based on something more fundamental and more threatening than Albus's obsession with her of late - though his partner's wavering motivation was an added catalyst. Gellert wanted to eliminate his competition because he wrongly believed that Minerva was onto the Deathly Hallows.

But there was nothing Minerva could reveal. Nothing she could say that he would believe either. So she did what was only natural. She feigned ignorance.

"You may be well versed in the dark arts, Grindelwald," she spat disdainfully. "But I have seen far too much and fought far too long to lose to the likes of you."

"Curiously, that is the second time someone has said that to me today. I am beginning to feel defeated." He backed away, and she felt him pluck a strand from her scalp. He inspected it for a second, as if he was studying a trophy he earned. "We'll see who comes out on top at the end of the day. Have a good night, Professor."

* * *

_Author's Note: Chapters keep getting longer. I hope it's not too boring._

_Thanks _uma ramrup_ for your continued support! I'm glad I've achieved that effect ;) Otherwise Minerva would just be majorly annoyed by Albus all the time._

Mascaret_-senpai! I'm very flattered *blush* I hope this chapter didn't disappoint!_


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